  Music is a treacherous sound, Seducing emotions and marking Their breathless faces with death. Art is an intrepid mountebank, Enraging philosophies and creeds By stepping into the black space beyond them. Religions are blindly tortured eyes, Paralyzing the speed of imagination With static postures of hope. History is an accidental madness, Using nations and races To simulate a cruel sanity. (In the final dust This trick will be discovered.) Psychology is a rubber-stamp Pressed upon a slippery, dodging ghost, But thousands of centuries can remove All marks of this indignity. Men, each snuggling proudly Into an inch of plausible falsehood, Will hate the careless smile That whitens these definitions. The table has been broken by fists; The fanatic has mangled his voice; The scientist cautiously repairs the room Beyond which he dares not peer. Life, they will never cease to explain you. |
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