The subject looked out upon the world,

Filling its life with objects like pieces on a chess board,

Striving to move them about for the inwardness’s benefit,

Not understanding how things could rebel,

Refusing to do it’s godlike will.

Seeking freedom from the objects around it

For the things did not do what the Id wanted,

Withdrawing off the board of life

Diving ever inward into to its own infinity,

Finding only it own poverty and nothingness

In the bottomless pit of its own design,

Raging again that it’s will thwarted

By the subject’s own nature

Not as godlike as it thought.