The Pale Worm

[I've long had a suspicion that the unknown poet of the Third Galaxy was one sick puppy. In this, one of his later sonnettes his malaise with life nearly oozes out of the words. On the other hand, living your life with prophetic knowledge that your world will self-destruct not long after you die is enough to make anyone bang their head against the wall, or a bottle...]

I wish there was a way that I could say
exactly what it is that is killing me.

I caught a glimpse of it the other day,
but was too afraid to really see
it close and -- in a flash -- it was gone!

I havn't the courage to dare to give it a name,
that pale worm, sixty light years long...

With its heart of ice; with its breath of flame:
its coils are squeezing the life out of me!

Could I but look that beast square in its single eye,
I would be free at last! It's not likely
I'll ever do it and that is why, ever faster, I die...

I am tormented by the things I never did,
wracked with words I never said, but hid.