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The Divine Strife

"The bits and pieces of a broken vase,

Or maybe it was just a glass half-filled,

Or broken window pane, the splattered glass,

Too plentiful for anyone to clean,

These bits are crunching gaily in my head.

(O please shut off the ever-lasting noise!)

The endless circles, oh the infinite loops!

And yet it is as quiet as the night.

The dark, the lack of sound in my void

Confuses, tires, scares me to null.

Typhoons, tornadoes, twisters, turbulent winds

Just scatter desolate rubbish of the land.

Itís cold, itís frigid, I donít feel the warmth.

The sun burned out many years ago.

But no, itís just me, the stupid joke,

The weak and languid pile, rotting dry.

A bag of nails and broken iceberg tops.

God damn this stupid pile of useless facts,

And shapes, the pictures of unreal worlds.

Just take the magnet and erase and disk!

Who cares? Surely, not my stupid self!

But why? Please tell me why Iím so lame!"

He said, "Youíll find it when you probe the depth

Of human soul. Pure white does not exist.

But tell me, can you comprehend the truth

And clench the essence of thy own life,

To find among the florid blanks a drop,

A sign that represents the human soul?

You see, you humans are but so young!

The children acting only on your needs.

Aesthetics, love, politeness, other things

That make you 'masters' over other beast

Are sacred keys to doors and stairs of hell.

Beyond the fakeness there is truly naught.

You yet evade and flee this clear truth,

Succumbing to intoxicating wine."

I shout, "No, it is not the truth!

Our feelings are essential to us

In order to survive and stay alive!

But I canít feel so now I am dead!"

"You foolish child," quoth he, "you can feel

All pains and sorrows, other joys of life.

Behold!" he yelled as he aroused a storm

Of dirt, debris, and other bits of dust.

"You say you need this? Tell me, whatís the use

Of all these random feelings that you have.

There isnít one. The flaky stuff is fake.

It doesnít help advance towards the goal."

"But whatís the goal? Please tell me why we live,
And strive to be like everybody else,

And go to work, and suffer." "Hereís why:

All useless toils you will understand

When only you shall learn to concentrate

Onto the task and not its outcome.

Your logic is the only sword you have

Against the chaos of pathetic swamp."

"I am no beast, I amÖ I am a man!

A human, who, besides his mind, does have

A heart that feels, caresses lonely souls,

That shares joys and comforts bitter sobs."

"The sobs that only stab you in the back!"

"The sobs that save the helpless soul from heck!"

"What makes you feel that you are God Himself?"

"I donít! Forsooth, I never viewed my self

As perfect. Nay, I never have nor will."

"What pity hath thou? Is it of thy will?"

"It is not pity, nay, but it is love,

The love and hope for an equal half,

The one for whom Iíd gladly give my life,

The one with whom Iíll never have a strife.

And why, you ask, I need to bind with her?

So that my offspring will survive for sure

And pass my genes along into gene pool.

Thatís why I live, you see, Iím no fool."

"My young apprentice, you have learned too well

So save your soul from going into hell.

I now retreat and give you time to think,

And change your better self." Then, in a blink,

All rubble gone, all bits and pieces cleared,

The light I set my foot upon was clear.

I now knew my place and rank in life,

At last I held the ever-needed light.

Its shining brightly had not blinded me,

For there I knew at last my soul would be.

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