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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Philosophy >> ID #1602306 |
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Foiled letters go forth
from whence they came. Whether they go north or a direction the same, isn't of concern. Perhaps it's the burn of the electronic fog of my mind, that just kept repeating: number nine, number nine, number nine. Did you understand man? I said that you should decide who to fight with for land, but choose wisely your side, for when the enemy comes thither, you will cower and shiver. But the progress of time was always ticking: number nine, number nine, number nine. Softly the tax collector thought about the last kiss he gave his wife. It was her that he bought at a brothel in great strife. Did he do it out of love? Or a mandate from God above? Either way, he'll just stand in line, and hear the intercom quote: number nine, number nine, number nine. Odysseus did listen to the Muses. What did the boatman pay to thee, to get the best of your uses? Was it something you let free? A principle of uncertainty confounded the Prince Populi. But all heard inside his mind, circling, was the mad repetition: number nine, number nine, number nine. Living in an epic romance is beautiful, but not so great as to cause one to rejoice and dance with their love and then mate. Like the slave mandingo, or the drummer Ringo, all men are created equal. So, to degrade another is unequal. Who are we to judge one a swine? And in the end, the only sound that remains is: number nine, number nine, number nine. If we land on another star system, then we become immortal to all others, but does that make us free? The stars are not good or bad, there is beauty to be found in what is sad. Is there enough entropy to sustain the Cosmos until no hydrogen will remain? Alas! The only thing not touched by time is what has been said with much madness: number nine, number nine, number nine.
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