Righteous Hypocrisy

Is there a soul in nature’s call,
or are all but the works of a dreaming bard?
If justice summons the trickster’s ball,
then justice is but the solipsist’s art.

How shall we for paradise desire,
if nowhere can we to paradise aspire?
Beauty we grant upon fiendish forms,
though our eyes elude their ghastly storms.

Travellers extoll their headless strides,
graveyards laugh at their foolish parades;
is hell the recipe for their pretentious pride,
or the make-belief of our heroic raids?

Whence do judgements their chisels acquire,
sculpting each tree to our frailty’s delight?
Why do you for the truth enquire,
when truths are enslaved in our crafty eyes?

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Published in: on 22/08/2018 at 2:40 PM  Leave a Comment