Worthless Noise

Free of corruption, free of empty joys,
The world would not be useful, true, or sane,
Or so we’re told. And then we’re told again,
Until it’s not much more than worthless noise,
Like children making sounds for their old toys,
The ones no longer working, or too plain
To make sounds. And it goes against the grain,
This absolutism. Look for equipoise.

No joy is quite so empty as what’s true
With absolute and total certainty,
Which always makes me shudder, try to flee,
And pick fights. Worthless noise escapes from you,
Inspiring men with brains like dried-out glue,
Which, I admit, sometimes also means me.