FOR ALBERT EINSTEIN
Your tragic loneliness is our shame
And a curse upon ourselves who stole
Your vision and used it to kill.
Alone always is the path of the great,
Apart from the squalid herd
And their cannibal greed.
On Truth alone did your Spirit feed
And rose illumined to speak of one harmony.
But mad voices screamed for blood and burning
Death and left you to mourn for evil done
In the name of truth.
Like a new Prometheus your work has forged
The choice of our emptiest hour,
Created a tale in which life and death
Lie as one desire,
Of a just new world,
Or a final cleansing fire.