Tell me, Sigmund, since you have plumbed the mind:
Unwittingly, have I loosed upon mankind
The poisoned mushroom's lethal cloud
Which covers the earth like doomsday's shroud?
Was the pursuit of knowledge so precious a goal
As to be bought at the cost of man's soul?
Did I upon the altar of self-delusion
Ultimately create the grand illusion
That man could take energy, mass and matter
And not devise a means to shatter
All that nature has carefully wrought,
All the dreams that angels sought?
I have no desire to belittle your fears,
Yet, Albert, I've discovered throughout the years,
It's not the bomb that is man's woe,
But the hand on the trigger: That is the foe.
This to you I most solemnly vouch,
That every day from troubled couch
I confirm anew man's unconscious state,
Until less and less I ascribe to fate.
For within the human soul there is confined
Good and evil, so combined
That in man, I would dare divine
Between Heaven and Hell a very thin line.
For in the universe which our knowledge built
Who should be more consumed with guilt:
You who unloosed the atom's power
Or I who unveiled the patient's hour?