The stone truth that many believe they seek
Is not a ray of the delinquent sum;
Clawing, the whole reverberates-though bleak-
When God fails to define an outcome.
The souls of primates are at the mercy
of a defiling specter unforeseen;
Dropping wishes at the feet of Circe,
Mortality pledges to a pale queen.
Pleasure cannot comply with objection
Nor can reason be a lover of sense;
Tradition within abrades rejection,
and the vacuum of truth expands. Hence:
The breach between eve and conclusion
belches forth a terrific illusion.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem