We are at war with the riddle
Some have given up the fight
And crawl backward toward the shelter
Of homes abandoned years before
Some charge relentlessly
And in their passion fall useless
Bleeding out in heroic fashion
Some attempt to take command
And strategize in vain
A means to control untrained troops
Some observe from afar
And in their impotence hope in the potency
Their knowledge may one day achieve
Some have turned the traitor
And rather than fighting the fight
Assist the enemy with their lies
Some are innocent in their incompetence
And fall before the blade
Without knowing what has happened
Some kneel before the oppressor
And think that if they confess its name
They shall be delivered
But the riddle remains
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jezuzgod, does it ever.
ReplyDeleteand so i wonder about all of our arms flailing. it seems the most profound and true place to be is in stillness. and in moments, yes, i reside there, thank farqing whatever there is to thank, but yet i've a passionate soul and i flail. perhaps we all undulate between all of these states in varying quantities (?)
i read your last line again and want desperately to put my finger to pulse of life/being.
(thank you for your beautiful life/being/thinking.)
xo
erin