If I fail my exam in John tomorrow, I’ll blame poems like this one.

Truth predicts the eclipse of truth,
And in that eclipse it condemns man,
Whose self-love with its useful schools of thought,
Its pious camouflage of a God within,
Is always the cause of the shadow, the fall, the burial,
The smug rub of hands
Amid a reek of research.

Go read the rest at Per Crucem Ad Lucem

Your Correspondent, Rejoices in that ploughed path from Safenwil

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