In Victus

Out of the days that unearth me,
Bright and white from pole to pole,
I curse whatever gods may be
For my gullible soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have winced, I have cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody and bowed.
Beyond this place of skies so clear
Looms but the Horror of the jade,
And yet the so-called joy of the years
Finds and shall forever find me afraid.
It matters not how the gate is built,
How empty is my punishment scroll,
I am a slave to my guilt:
I am lost to my soul.

P.S: The true rendition of the William Ernest Henley Poem “Invictus”