Classic Poem

Questions scuttle across his brain
And gnaw like rats at his heart,
Gnaw — as if it were cheese.
For philosophy cannot trap them,
Its doors spring open again.
And forgetfulness is futile,
Since cracks of memory come in it.
And the golden bars of love are weak,
Too weak to shut them out.

So scornfully he endures
The gnawing of each doubt,
With a dull silent sense
Of an unaccepted universe;
And waits till his heart, withered with age,
Is left to dry indifference.