The mug sits on the table, a simple
Little thing; the book glistens, bleeding through
The narrow corners of sight; a twinkle
Forms towards my left, and there, good Aunt Sue.
Who are you to say, “monster,” to my soul;
Glass pane, so cutely staring at my face.
Who are you to tell me that I am foul?
The brows rise very slightly in disgrace.
“Know thyself before talk,” says the Demon;
I saw the light bulb, blinded by wisdom.
“Know thy heart before stop,” says the Reason;
I saw Light, not blinded, not boredom.