Amor Fati III.

resistance, persistence, existence is futile
as salted earth, or lambs, stillborn,
limp, with blood warm, daubed on doors,

hope, frail and false, making mice of men,
arched backward into chasmic nights,
lain crippled, melancholic, manic,

raising the next— no hymn, hail or prayer;
a grim grimace beside a razor’s smart edge;
no grimoire, just deeds in perpetuity.