Skeptic (I)

Machiavellian, I dare to say
And no reason to deny it
For, here I become a woodworm
Against who dares to reply
To the world’s stupidity,
Starting from the verb,
Repudiating capital letters,
My brother, I refrain
For tall stories you know enough,
For blind you still are
As Isaac’s revealed
And numbers are written,
Nonetheless, at last,
Grudge is no more
For if I care
It’s just pity, not passion.