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Rated: · Poetry · Writing · #1716524
A poem about how the complex in life is overrated.
When the world was still just a baby girl,

when the stars were naughty little boys,

when the moon was not so bright in the sky,

and the sun was not more than a giant torchlight.



Even in those days beyond time, from long ago,

there was a plan or some scheme for everything to follow.

No calendars, no timekeepers and yet all went just right so.

The forces to be knew exactly what they had to do.



Today with all the brains and intellect to go,

and even with all the dense contraptions of science.

When man is marvelled as the greatest creation of god,

there is no order to the madness that ensues.



Simple they say, is where god choses to reside,

and yet more convoluted are the methods we choose.

A facade really of the most inconceivably thorny design,

has been in the making layer by layer for the longest time.



We see, we judge, we think and we do,

what we think is expected in this world of two.

The actor and the stage, is all that really remains.

no substance, no consciousness, a mask and nothing plain.
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