When I start out, I know the rain won’t pause.
It’s hard and steady, and the path unsure,
there’s a deep river filling the storm sewer
and what was easy now is full of flaws.
I’ve always been found guilty, and the cause
is to reject me for being too sure
I’ve learnt to do the job, so I endure
the insults and the arbitrary laws
I must obey. But it’s the only form
of justice that an angry god permits:
Never be praised, but held to a fixed code
of strict obedience to the hardest norm
of obligation, under constant blitz
of cruelties, and taunts, as my hard goad.
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