So what is the solution…

Like a grain of salt that has been dissolved,
Arguments that were long ago absolved;
Yin and Yang in my psyche imminent,
Renders null and void hurtful filaments.
Intrusive thoughts spoil serenity;
Imp[s] of the perverse, their identity.
Did Poe, the Poet, achieve clear vision,
Or did his writing create collision?
I prefer sunlight dancing in the grass —
To consider cavorting crows and cats.

(Edgar Allen Poe wrote a creative essay/story about the IMP OF THE PERVERSE.)

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