Gallows in the Morn

My slumber is invaded by the nightwind
of mannifold a day.
I was not persuaded by the lightnin’
which led my thoughts astray.

I passed the rocks of ancient glory’s fallin’
beneath all heavens’ break.
A fearful howlin’ is the thunder’s callin’
which keeps me wide awake.

My bones are stroke as tremblin’ shadows,
my mind is givin’ in.
Remote ahead appear the looming gallows
which cure all lust and sin.

Sometimes I have this eerie feeling that my death will be one of the most terrible to imagine. This feeling, of course, is irrational, and, on a meta-level, I do not believe what I feel. On the other hand, death itself is not what I fear – it is dying which is so dreadening. Furthermore, I feel that I shall be judged by those whose ideas I oppose, and sentenced to death in a show trial. I wonder why my love is still greater than all the depressing facts about the world we live in: Is it despite all this, or rather because of it?
The words ‘lust’ and ‘sin’ are, needless to say, not used in any religious sense. Rather, with the end of life, whatever one may have done will come to an end. There is no life after the grave, and therefore, there are no interests to pursue. The only sin one can commit during one’s lifetime is to use one’s powers to harm others for no good reason – and the only good reasons I can conceive of are defensive, so there are no good reasons in the first place – instead of helping them.

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