A little ink more or less! It surely can't matter? Even the sky and the opulent sea, The plains and the hills, aloof, Hear the uproar of all these books. But it is only a little ink more or less. What? You define me God with thee trinkets? Can my misery meal on an ordered walking Of surpliced numbskulls? And a fanfare of lights? Or even upon the measured pulpiting Of the familiar false and true? Is this God? Where, then, is hell? Show me some bastard mushroom Sprung from a pollution of blood. It is better. Where is God? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I MAY, I MIGHT, I MUST by MARIANNE MOORE SISTER MARIA CELESTE, GALILEO'S DAUGHTER, WRITES TO FRIEND by MADELINE DEFREES A SONG OF COURAGE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TOWARD THE GULF; DEDICATED TO THEODORE ROOSEVELT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |