All Days Need Be Attuned

  What's to gain from all your days when in the end its shame,
The thing that holds your head at night on which the mind is trained,
That subtle breed of atrocity commited against thyself,
For want and owned and once done things to which the brain atones.
  Why at sleep do these things reap a havok upon the mind?
Coulnd't it be better assessed in those waking hours of time?
The pessimism in relativism is starting to be a bore.
We need some sense of subtlety which for long did make us soar.
  O'er weeping masses and even o'er top their lords,
That pressence of thought unabhorrent which lies in untainted soul.
Too long has man been parted from that reasoned part forsooth,
For without that fresh redeeming gleam man is lost, the truth.