In quiet chambers of my brooding heart,
A lurking guilt murmurs, undefined;
Though I inquire, it does not depart,
A spectral woe that upon me dines.
To pathos drawn, like fungus to a tree,
Yet why this grief exists, I scarcely know;
Enshrouded in a self-made mystery,
I dwell imprisoned by an unjust glow.
But the key to lift this heavy veil
Resides not in the solace of my mind;
It is when for others’ joy my efforts hail,
The fetid chains are left behind.
Thus, in the living for the spirit of thee,
I find the path that sets my soul free.
Robert Walker 