The Prophet's End

And like all broken, sad people 

He said he was a poet, 

That he was going slightly mad 

But not worldly-insane yet; 

And that if he knew what his pain was 

He'd tell you, or seek a balm, 

But even if he knew how not to get hurt 

He wouldn't stop, he wouldn't be calm; 

"And now I know, and now I know," 

Cried the Prophet, "How my end should go!" 

"Catching fire, burning to death, 

Hoping to rise from the dying ashes, 

So very dark with drying wounds 

Marking Life's thousand lashes..."