Clouds of Unknowing
In the darkest
valleys of the highest mountains we find no peace.
With cascades
descending like maternal cries, boulders
Unloosed and
skies unleashed, everything must cease
Its
meanings. We waited for the Titans whose
shoulders
Burdened
with earthly worries, but there only came
A very fine
mist, silent and translucent,
To which we
could not lay our claim nor complain
Without
appearing foolish. Our rage unspent,
Small tears
and sighs were all we had, mere breath
Remaining,
empty, dry, like stains at dusk,
Stretched
across the horizon. Thy sting, o Death!
We cannot
feel, fatal phantom, mere husk.
Instead,
from below, the clouds of unknowing rise
With a
stench unbearable bringing us down to size.
