Something In It

It creeps up steeply
from the deepest marrow –
generated by an existential rape

so violent and narrow
its constraints of pain
cannot be measured. But

something in it must be treasured –
thought so precious
by whatever unknown

force enforces it
that it will brook no interference
in its course: dooming it

to loss: protecting it
against all mitigating gain:
insuring that it will be harrowing

from end to end. Perhaps it is
the first inevitable wrenching
bend each sentient living thing

must undergo
in crippling face
of the enormity of being here.

Seeing it come near rams fear
into its dark fraternal twin:
stark hopelessness –

which starves to languish
for release into the catatonic.
Anguish is iconic.

.