All the many bodies
are assembled parts
from drawers of endless
cast-off pieces

Engaged in struggles of silent passion
No pose too broken
No embrace too brutal
For the Hell they endure
surfacing from the hardened bronze.

Looking down
the Poet of the dismal truth
finds psychic Hell inescapable
from the "old Hell" of
unrepentant sinners.

Inner chaos prevents seeing
the trio of Shades
or the Poet's dilemma:
foregoing the Struggle so as 
To understand, to think past evil.