LAMENT FOR AN UNEXPECTED DEATH
That God is dead!
Though God is dead
God lives in my deep self,
In the buried mind of a hard old Red,
A grieving cosmic orphan strung alive
To echoing cavernous voids inside my cheated head:
A wised-up Irish God-fed man, limed to social certainties,
— "No balance, frame or sense in life but life" —
Infinities of emptiness, my tendrons trailing there,
Beneath my will for finite crusted truth still lie
A deep archaic hunger, fed
And starved in my subconscious,
Sustained by buried lies.
God is not dead:
I live — He lives!
The void in my head,
The dead God lives:
Though God is dead,
This God will live
'Till I am dead.
To get the proper shape of this, copy it, then "centre" it.