Making logic of madness is the scientist’s pursuit

To rationalise and quantify every moment as moot

But the artist accepts some things cannot be counted

And seeks through nature’s sense

All the cracks and crevasses

The masons wedged with lies and numbers

Fracking scull bones in dreamless slumbers

As they drill through the earth’s plates

Without considering possible fates

Just as where the posterior fontanelle closed once and for all

Here began the bleak and endless fall

Not quite able to visualise what happened

But my muscles remember every touch and feeling

For and against my helpless reeling

Forcing my body into a shape

That was mathematically precise and with a measuring tape

But sound was lacking in its truest form

That voice from the heart that calms and soothes the wildest storm

Because no amount of logic and maths

Can sooth the soul like heartful sonic baths

There is a point running from head to toe

And back up again from where each life does grow

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