“The last act is bloody, however fine the rest of the play. They throw earth over your head and it is finished for ever.” — Pascal, Pensées
Mother brought us forth at birth
astride a yawning grave,
to teach us that we have
a soul—just one!—to save;
one soul: our own.
Recall this when your chains—
self-forged—daily make you groan.
When scratching scabs of lust
upon your sordid bed,
remember you were made from dust—
and soon you will be dead.