Re-do my prophecy...

Oh life ... how often have you laid yourself before him and forced him to see his reflection. And how he screamed enough! Enough of life so much. Not knowing that the cause for his rupture, was his break with life. His sense of unworthiness, his disbelief in his own prophecy. So there he stands; wronged, maimed, spoiled for aspiration. Farewell life! He screams into the void. And then he hides his eyes and thinks it all ended. But there it is, so quiet only dogs can hear it whisper. Life calls to him in some transformed, apocryphal, new voice. Above him, or below him, or around. He lifts his head and tries to name it. Nature, love, the universe. Trying to trick himself, because he is more ashamed of his own compensations than his griefs. Still, life's voice! Still, he makes peace with life.