Some of the mathematicians reside in bed,
Their occupations demand a religion to make,
Their prayers state the ultimate ends,
For the experts of the field too much.
Some of us demand a thought to unleash
A whip too righteous and straight.
These lotuses are red and dear to light,
It will fly in your face, faces demand money.
The numbers in the ranks of the people
Are nobody and non-stop madness.
Monday, September 21, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: math