One May be Tired

One may be tired of the world.,
tired of the prayer-makers, the poem-makers,
whose rituals are distracting
and human, and pleasant,
but worse than irritating
because they have no reality
while reality itself remains very dear.

One wants glimpses of the real.
God is an immensity,
while this disease,
this death which is within me,
this small, tightly defined,
pedestrian event,
is merely and perfectly real,
without miracle or instruction.