I want to confess as best I can, But my heart is void. The void is a mirror - I see my face And feel loathing and horror. My indifference to men has shut me out. I live in a world of ghosts, A prisoner in my dreams. Yet you do not want to die? Yes, I do. What are you waiting for? Knowledge. You want a guarantee. Call it what you will. Is it so hard to conceive of God With one's senses? Why must He hide himself in a mist of Vague promises and invisible miracles? Why can I not kill the God within me? Why does He go on living In a painful, humiliating way? I want to tear Him out of my heart. But He remains a mocking reality, Which I cannot get rid of. I want knowledge, not belief. And not surmise - I want knowledge. This life, a senseless terror - No man can live with Death and know Everything is for nothing. Oh, I see - we must make an idol of fear And call it God. I know it is the same for all, but I want to use my respite For one significant action