Where is your moment of truth? At what point does compelling thought turn the corner, and enter idiocy?

Roam past the devils of Darkness,
Slip beyond the ghouls of Conformity,
Leave behind the Mystic of Doubt;
And you arrive at the home of Thought.
A glance around the Domicile
Quickly disillusions;
It being the lair of a predatory beast,
Holding fumes of decaying scraps of meat
On scattered Bones;
Ingested in hurried frenzy.
What would seem so ordered and perfect,
Be nothing but Chaos;
Where be the purity so touted
About the vaunted effort?