wb :

This is war, and we are its children. We are the product of a generation of violence, of meaningless hatred. We are the product of silly sympathies sworn to this prophet or this god. Silly sympathies that divide us against ourselves. 'A house divided against itself cannot stand', a prophet once said. Words 'once said' can never be retracted. Speeches made can never be undone. They have created our fathers - the generation of violence, and we, the children of war.




P.S. tried to connect the ideas to each other, to give it a little flow. But it seems pretty forced at the later stages of the piece. Comment plx.

Labels: prose

//the madness of love

dear reader, surely you have read of many foolish men
whom, for a maiden's simple smile, would die and be condemned
and surely you have laughed at them, so lightly sacrificed-
but they who lived the burning blaze- so gladly burned and died.

the face that launched a thousand ships and sacked a city proud
the dainty face before whom all the greatest of men bowed
so, call them foolish now! but ask the countless that are dead
to love and live, the price was death; that price they gladly paid.

Othello closed his open eyes to fall upon his sword,
and Werther never knew another meaning of the word;
oh, pity not those piteous men who lost their minds to love!
no fairer thing to make men mad was giv'n by god above-
yes, madness! love had never claimed to be another thing
but claimed the mind, possessed the soul, enraptured everything.

-~-

keeping in line with the "one post a month" theme heh.

Labels: poetry