Pantomime Of A Madman Poem by Artchil Daug

The night arrived, bringing the voices of unborn children in the form of a demon disturbing the peace of slumber with a sulfuric whisper, 'I bless thee, O venerable child, thou art alpha and omega, the eternal apocalypse, the child of evolution, yet an anomaly of equations, without purpose, without the mechanistic limits of the time arrow, '
the demon showed me a world in the river of sorrow, 'see the madness thou species brought, roses turned to bombs, colors turned to grey, insulting the very unmeaning of existence;
'thus, I give thee a gift, to do unto others what they cannot do unto themselves, I bestow to thee the senses long abandoned in the corner of the longing for another world, another life, another lie.'
Night turned to day in matters of giggles, I found myself surrounded by children, 'Why do you do such gestures stranger? ' asked one of them, the light is bright only contrasted with the sad eyes filling the playground, the instant stage;
I felt the sharp blade in my pocket, I wanted to say something, but the universe stayed at the tip of my tongue, no words, disgruntled, realizing what to do, the gift of the demon:
In ev'ry sarcasm this world ignites, this torch aflame be the devil's delights!