Is this poem a masterpiece, or the scribbles of a madman?

I find the ambiguity of the metaphors quite suiting and metaphysically suggestive of a conflict between what we know, what we wish to know, what we suspect we should have known, what we can never hope to know, and how we are left with a sense of futility at times from reconciling the conflicting emotions which arise as we endeavor to make do in our limited capacity while making earnest efforts not to meet the unexpected with undo surprise that we should give up, nor that we should give up on some unexpected result even if it is only to bemuse our sense of irony in appreciation of the self through the medium of humor.