The poem opens with a small, strange image: rain on the speaker's skin, felt as "a silk prison." Something soft and pleasant is also confining, and that tension carries through the rest of the poem.
The second part is a chain of "if" clauses, each one a bleak or absurd condition. If a game is nothing, if news reports demand that many men must get the plague, if a hole must ruin the holy. These lines don't add up to a tidy argument. They read like a list of reasons the world feels rigged, trivial, or cruel, with the logic twisted just enough to unsettle us. Then the last line answers all of them at once: "I lay the soft life down."
The title, "Resolution," fits. The speaker makes a decision, giving up comfort and ease. The mood is cool, stark, and a little grim, but also determined. There's no anger in the tone, just a quiet refusal to stay wrapped in silk while everything else falls apart. Judging by the imagery, the comfort has come to feel like a trap.