At times like this, I cannot think of love and beauty,
Only of pain and fear, cold and hunger
In a desolate wilderness of unreality.
Black the night is, dark and cold.
Lonesome walk I, grey and old
And withered with the heat of day,
Weary treading on my way.
Hear the thunderous footsteps falling, calling,
Nearing there where all is peace and light.
See the sky with clouds a-swirling
Blacken.
Break with shadows on the day.
Fear and trembling as I walk nearer.
Cold and dank the air around me,
Moving eddies, swirling torrents surround me,
engulf me,
carry me.
Gates of brass and steel, gloomy in the ever twilight.
Seek an entrance,
let me in!
Shall I never cease from torment in my mind?
The thoughts flow faster, wilder, grimmer,
Seeking light where none remains,
Nought but fear and cold and pains.
John Dawson
Cambridge, 1964