Mind of matter, though dost protest too much,
why though sees cleanly, what dost though not trust?
Which of why need you to fear?
if nothing's there, there's nothing here.
Why thouh fears what lies in dust,
for indeed thouh wishes rust,
tis a prospect most insincere,
for if nothing's dust, there's none to fear.
Thus established, the code has been seen,
what's the reality behind this need?
The dust does settle upon the stage,
as in truth the actors are the rage,
a thing that such rinds wish revealed,
minds indeed must then be kneeled.
So as established, it's not the stage,
only the actors provoking all the rage.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem