The more
I know myself:
The more
life
becomes routine.
Routine succumbs
to
thought
less
ness.
For in reality I see:
That musicisans: Have no concepts
so
thier ballads
spew forth
platitiudes.
The stench
of Plagiarism!
So enemic
at
its core.
That technicians: Speak of building
from the knowledge
of the concept
rather than
the seed.
With their structures
simulating
something
of
a plea.
That scientists: Speak of relativity
from ages
come
and
gone.
While day by day
they constipate
and just
can't learn
the song.
That politicians: Guardians of
Deciept
they call
them
"selfs"
profound.
They think
our
minds
not
sound?
They've kept
track of
the seed
rather than
the concept.
When they have
no concepts
so their platitudes
spew forth
ballads.
While the maloderous
stench of dogmatism
comes right on
through
our doors.
Great rains are my desire!
for with them
swoops my eagle
emerging
with his lyre.
Great rains are my desire!
for with them
digs my camel
to light
the serpents fire.
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