Comes What Comes
PHILIP TRAMMELL
I heard the hollow voice inside my head,
And this is what his lying whisper said.
Poor fools, who pray with quaking breath,
Afraid that nothing follows death,
Quake not a tremble more; shed not another tear.
The Lord is not a God Who Saves,
But dread no dark and endless graves—
Be still, and I will tell you what you ought to fear.
Your deaths, indeed, are not your ends.
Something more horrible impends
By far than any fears your witless minds can dream.
It will begin that final day:
Your tongues for sanctity will pray,
Then cry for clemency, then shout for death, then scream
For fire and brimstone swiftly sent
Upon you who did not repent—
And did, alike—and other lame, imagined hells;
And every prayer the Lord on high
Will hear and publicly deny
In favor of a pain of which no scripture tells.
You trespassers (and all the rest
Of you) will beg a last request:
“Down on our heads, dear Father, an injustice bring:
May we receive ten thousand times
The penalty for all our crimes
And learn thereby the nature of our trespassing.”
And then at last, your hope will match your wit.
Comes what comes; no words will weaken it.
Philip Trammell is a senior concentrating in
economics and mathematics.
Spring 2015
CORNERSTONE Magazine
15