Kurt

Gödel completed the search for the secret Of sources that hid in the signal of time Only to find that the final provisions Would starve him of vigor in trusting divine, The irony being his consistently seeing The absence of matches in passing for muster Would rob of the magic the pleasure of knowing The act was a trick we ignored all along. Until in his building he felt it imperious To treat it as serious that series of statements Related in context would come to forget What they meant in the end, Then relegated to specialist diet He died from the kind of mistrust defiant That signs on the line of agreeing in premise But furtively thinks there's no meat in the sentence.