The Game

She meditates to find an answer, resolution —
in a limbo of suffering, longs to descend deeper,
return purified, though she remembers well
those sinking steps, the possibility of no return…
or, half-content, dares covet a moment's sweeping
spontaneous flight — eternity of the bird.
(No memory of that!)
But all could be arranged:
it's only peace Mephisto never bargains with.
"The more extreme the emotion, the stronger
the illusion' — that motto heads the contract,
and his slow-poisoning payment is, like radiation,
good for you, he claims…
If the wind should blow
a printed leaf into my hand, I know it would read,
"Your life will be found among brokenness and loss.
The human measure of things is, though confused
and painful, the key to the divine. Thus, the more
unhappy, the closer to happiness. We call it
the Shadow Method. Yours etc…'
The Mad Thomist
strikes again! Only Mephisto, joyfully upstaged,
can afford to laugh at that… And settles down
with patience, his shining eyes watching my own.
It's my next move.