What's to be done when Icarus, heedless
But not ignorant of the danger,
Chooses to fly into the sun?
The enemy is at the gates, beating to be
Released, admitted; strangers and intimates,
Faces known from the mirror's depths.
What's to be done when we shut our eyes and ears
Rather than see or hear anything
That might displease us? Rather than learn
That we are the enemy at the gates?
That we have made a hell out of paradise?