For Always In Her There Was A

It Was Over Now, And The Meaningless World Was Tolerable And Need Not Be Explained. And Never Would It Be, And How Foolish I Had Ever Been To Think So.

I Didn’t Look To The Shore Much After This First Long And Memorable Glimpse. I Looked Up At Heaven And Her Court Of Mythical Creatures Fixed Forever In The All Powerful And Inscrutable Stars. Ink Black Was The Night Beyond Them, And They So Like Jewels That Old Poetry Came Back To Me, The Sound Even Of Hymns Sung Only By Men.

… In The Relentless And Meaningless Manner One Searches For Something In A Nightmare, Coming On Doors That Won’t Open Or Drawers That Won’t Shut, Struggling Over And Over Against The Same Meaningless Thing, Not Knowing Why The Effort Seems So Desperate, Why The Sudden Sight Of A Chair With A Shawl Thrown Over It Inspires The Mind With Horror.

He Had Never Expected Death To Be This Quiet, This Secretive, This Easy.

Nothing In All The World Is So Nonsensical And Contradictory, Save Mortals, That Is, Who Live In The Grip Of The Superstitions Of The Past.