such assumption to act
you blind sower of fate
as if you read religious
the manuscript of Man
I bury my head in that book
and it bids me pause
how have we come
to counter conclusions?
you dare to feign fiction,
to chart course our ship?
but Good only knows
itself by Evil
so long as you enjoy
yourself a Captain
I will tinker your compass
at night—
for you barely have need of it,
you sage.