#107
The source of every dream is temptation.
What lures us from our accepted selves,
What threatens us in its blurred creation,
Is the rank soil the hungry flower delves.
Or do these harpy leers and mutant screams,
(Or, for ordinary men, unknown thighs,
Or being chased, or invisible sighs),
Come from beyond the mind, not being dreams,
(The film of sleep), but visions meant to try
Our faith in reason or reality?
The Saint, tortured by what no man should see,
Expelled the imp, the whore, canker and maw,
By waking up to dismiss all he saw
As a devil's prank. Question is, can we?
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