Blue-Crested Cry

We’re through, we’re through, we’re through, we’re through, we’re through

and—flanking, now, the edges of our schism—

it seems your coldness and my idealism

alone for all this time have kept us true.

Credulous I and hedonistic you:

opposed, refracting angles of a prism

who challenged sense with childish skepticism—

and every known the bulk of mankind knew.