The dungeon gates open and spill out,
A slime of forces macabre and disfigured.
A coat of science they wear or a friendly face,
All around a pall of confusion and tired grimace.
The foe is hidden, his compatriots unknown,
The mind of reason in a tizzy is thrown.
A maze of mirrors lit by an anterior sun,
Is this world of falsehood multiplied by reflection.
Prudence’s voice in earnest cries, ‘Hither is rest!’,
Venture that way and a silent end is due at best.
Science with shining titles cried, ‘My method is sure!’,
But like a forgetful child ever forgets it can err.
There is a ladder of certainty, hidden yet tangible,
Climb its rungs and rise above this crucible.