The Temptation of St. Anthony (Max Ernst)

#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?

The Temptation of St. Anthony (Dali)

#43

Temptation does not walk on legs
As long and thin as giraffe stilts.
It stomps like an elephant on eggs
Until it's churned a mess of guilt.
All the legends are full of denial,
As if that's all it took to be godly.
The desert is an empty trial
And determination works, oddly,
Better than love, if all you want
Is not to know physical love, riches,
Beauty, or the power of the tyrant.
I love how the hair shirt itches.
Angry, the Lord said, Make a life!
Work, charity, children, and wife.