Rebel's Freedom

O Lord, the voice of Your Spirit comes to me,
Making itself heard above and through the meaninglessness.

Your Earth clutches at my feet as I walk,
And the hands of your sevvants are upon my garments.

But I, fool that I am, pay no heed,
Trading happiness for a rebel's freedom.

I press onward on my own path,
Turning always from side to side,

Lest the fool see the face of his folly;
Until at last I read that final blind alley.

Then at last will I be forced to look myself in the face.
O Lord, will it be a sadder face than the one which I now wear?