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I woke up this morning; nature of the game:
Sleep, wake up, it’s the in between that counts.
To awake is one thing; have a purpose to get up,
Face the day is another. Time has no discount.
For the French, it raison d’etre; for me, it’s what the point?
Have always been a Romantic (accuse me not of frivolity);
A la Byron, William Blake et al: reckless heart felt belief
in a basic goodness and nobility of humanity.
Dig deep enough under the most despicable of actions
You will find a core of empathy; the link with the universal.
Shove the naive dualism, you call me a fool; I call you misguided.
Take your gospel of selfishness, celebration of greed; hold it to the light.
Notice the holes; the gaps of logic (even Truth);
Everyone is selfish, self-centred, you might say.
(such a pathetic, self-serving excuse)
Yes, maybe No; whatever you say, whatever the way.
You want to look at it, there’s arguably an element of truth.
You might call it ambiguity; I see the seeds of horror.
So much is being, and has been, done in the name of innocence
and Nobility that chills the blood.
The perpetrators looked on; with looks of rapture.
Save your sophistry and empty rhetoric (however well worn it might be);
your carefully indexed litany of lies. You believe without doubt?
Save your breath. Intensity of belief is intensity of belief: nothing more.
It does not make an action right; it does change the outcome.
It does not comfort the grieving (or make them change their mind).
It is childish, spiteful and mean, whatever your twisted words of intent.
I ask you, “is this that your daily grind?”
I woke up this morning; nature of the game:
Sleep, wake up, it’s the in between that counts.
To awake is one thing; have a purpose is not the same.
The question, “is this to what Life amounts?”.
Tagged in les bush