My heart beats intermittently in this mad, mad world,
The pain of it makes it shutter so.
And as it quivers I would have you know
That many well minded people proclaim to defend
The madness hidden here within
Their deafening fog and their blinding snow.

Here where Tully stands
Amidst Horace and Homer’s hands,
And Plato watches as they go
So many years far below.
I was once with them an unlettered lad
Buried somehow now inside their fog and snow.

Is it possible to jinx this madness?
Attack the demons and spill their decadence?
Newspapers daily attacks on the sane
With words like hammers again and again.
Making a false museum out of this insanity’s row.
Falling all around within the cold fog of snow.

Are the insane the real artists?
The vandals the restorers?
The bombs - the ballast?
The lies – the words the authors’
Use to make this world less to know.
Sprinkling mysery about in the fog and snow.

Your own thoughts float down to the place where you are
Watching as another lie falls so far.
You watch it fly out the door into the misty night,
Sailing away to the dark tenements of right.
Wishing it to stay where the art is black and without a glow,
Burying yourself in the fog and snow.

Let sanity swing open in the cages of your heart
Like an eagle soaring with wings held wide apart.
Looking down with an illuminated eye.
Floating high above this mad quasi
Thinkers of thought, squelching out a reply.
No question lost in this worldly fresco -
Lost no more in the fog and snow.