What if the poem loses?What if it never tastes victory like the intent it was written with?

That window which connects youto the agony of other people;that’s your soul.Close that window and you are soulless. And a soulless man is vestigial.He hears but cannot listen. He sees but cannot notice.And everyone knows:when eyes and ears become jobless,We look for excuses.We hear angels and devils speak. We confabulate.We make up godsand lick their feet.—Superstitions