Classic Poem

The Hand of God lies somewhere mangled, the Hand of God lies somewhere cut. — And I myself have tried to shield my head: I stay within — all doors and doorways shut .
Like pieces of a snake, curved, though sundered, so leaps of God's Hand every particle; and every fling reveals the final Wonders, unveiling furthermore my screening wall .
Now I shield myself no more; I call for him who seeks his final prey. The Hand of God lies somewhere bruised and mangled and I — like parts of a snake in the gory dust .