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The language of math is a difficult thing -

It's harder to speak and it's harder to learn

It's riding the tiger (with one broken wing)

It's clutching a coal and praying to burn.

OOO

It's sifting through tea-leaves and staining your hands

It's singing the stars from their place in the night

And wrapping your wounds with old rubber bands

Supporting the sky though your own puny might.

OOO

It's time in a sand-grain; the more that you grasp

In pale, shaking fingers - why, that is your own!

The stale taste of coffee, the stylus you clasp

To etch your equations through flesh into stone.

OOO

But the language of math is quite simple at heart -

Let none tell you different. A sharp, sullen edge.

It's easy to speak and it's easy to start -

Just throw yourself off of the gaping cliff ledge.