On a Minor Betrayal

Oh, I've been alone through it all.
The friends who walked a mile or a year
Are all gone, with more of the same lot coming along,
To day by day do some play by play on the petty and perfunctory,
Whilst I, in solemn hidden wrath, cut apart their small deceits
To find, the giant monstrosity buried beneath.

Oh, I've seen my share of truth.
The slight behaviorisms, the routine clichés,
The rare collapses of their present fronts and past flaunts;
Delusion and blind intention birth their thoughts, and, like a great whore
To her bastard children, they raise these thoughts as though
They were heaven's very angels, blessed and pure.

Oh, but we will all carry on.
You and I will live it through till bitter end,
Till, found at last in wretched, awful paradigm, we see
Clearly, acutely, and with fatal comprehension, that for our small sins
There is no redemption. Oh innumerable! oh sublime!
The perfect agonies with which we bless our brothers.