THROUGH some strange sense of sight or touch <br />I find what all have found before, <br />The presence I have feared so much, <br />The unknown’s immaterial door. <br /> <br />I seek not and it comes to me; <br />The do not know the thing I find: <br />The fillet of fatality <br />Drops from my brows that made me blind. <br /> <br />Point forward now or backward, light! <br />The way I take I may not choose: <br />Out of the night into the night, <br />And in the night no certain clews. <br /> <br />But on the future, dim and vast, <br />And dark with dust and sacrifice, <br />Death’s towering ruin from the past <br />Makes black the land that round me lies.<br /><br />Madison Julius Cawein<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/death-566/
