The sweet bloody air,
Of Charles Baudelaire,
Is not my favorite.
Though my mind does savor it,
And it be gallant,
Full of talent,
And the madness,
Of genius –
It is not the mirror to my dreams.
And though it often seems,
As though I’ll soon collapse and fall,
Into the dark gory gall,
And lose my optimism forever,
And my affair with life sever,
I still see a light,
Seductively bright,
Peeking through clouds and misery,
And luring me towards the imagery,
Of that life-affirming German –
Nietzsche –
That King of Jolly Madmen.
