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My friend, the Mathematician
That hapless symmetry, mirrors bigotry,
This structure of steel retains,
The cold reflection that remains.
This post of iron wrought,
Is straight and narrow, as it ought,
To be, as it is expected to behave.
What laws separate when conversed?
What austerity rules our universe?
Who said love, and hope, and wisdom,
Are depraved?
I see these ideas, wise, connected,
I see the parts intricate,
My pupils, dilate,
Sends signals through my weary state,
I can no longer wait,
To see again, my kind rejected.
‘God does not throw dice’
But if so, what equation rules,
The eternal nature of suffering,
The eternity of vice?
My friend, the mathematician,
He sees the world in rigid terms,
He sees x, and never learns,
The joy of linguistics,
He’d rather let the world mire,
In a dire, barrel of statistics.
An expression of human intelligence,
Does not mark the sum of human worth,
Nor the nature of our birth.
Though love will be forgotten still,
Like some chance-irrational number,
The glory of life’s ignorant wonder,
My worth, still, is a hundred times more,
Than the subtraction I deplore.
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