When, in the wake of crossed eyes and corpse,
(And things no longer being secret)
It's finally told
And I am mad;
When calls are placed to review the pen
And felt once more is the lonely one-eyed crest
Of hackneyed solute;
When, for all my flaws,
People finally know something of my
And I am a chivalrous ghost
Of the not too distant past,
Then, forgive me God for saying so but
I hope that the world falls to pieces.
That language moves to dust
And a great chorus of wailing return
To a guttural Babylonian.
That schools of would-be saints
Stop to pray for each other's gods
And shingle in fearful commune
For their fallen son.
That, when all is said and done,
Just for an instant,
People stop and acknowledge that
"Something was here
And now it is not."
I think I would like that