A thought.it reads:
When we speak from the night
Do we say what is true, do we?
Or do we speak conveniently
As recompense to every slight?
Anger is true, if angst is falsehood
Mind of earth and heart of wood
Of wormwood, even - but what word
Does fit a measured ferocity
Against sin; for such animosity
Could make all milk soon curd
If men of Vision are all drunken
On the wine of the Spirit shrunken
To the appetite of a man, I winced -
For those who drink do so at night
And if we must interpret right
Ours is then but absinthe --!
Strong certain, but bitter-strong
A drug for the mad, not for long
Taken, for only broken men fight
When we speak from the night.