A part of me does not surrender
fully to Night despite its immemorial
sway. Should I awake before dawn
and feel the stab of lost loves,
I am plunged into Sympathy for All.
I wonder how many preventable
are poised on the edge of realization,
as I sleep in oblivious pleasure? What if
I stay awake and tighten my resolve, will
my vigilance stop a deep sorrow before it finds
a final niche from which to launch its
mission of upheaval of body and soul? My cry
in the Night is ever, Let me help! Let me do good!
Was I asleep while the others suffered?
Vladimir
“Waiting for Godot”
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