Hate and Love on Conquering

And hate said unto love: “It is well known of us, that you are the only conqueror of me. Yet, I’ve heard none speak that I am also the equal conqueror of you.

Is it not so, that countless of your disciples, and your cities have been put to ruins by me, and my disciples? And my people raise their hands in victory? Yet, I am known only of that which shall be conquered.”

Moreover, isn’t it true that we are not so different; are not your power as my power, and use as I use? I am only reproach because my strike, is first-strike.”

 

And Love answered him saying: “Why think yourself as me, and your disciples as my disciples? Is it not so, with my disciples every defeat of your disciples; the people raise their hands in victory giving glory unto god.

And even in defeat by your disciples; it is a moral victory. For all the people before, is added with new people out of compassion? And all raise up more determined than before to rid themselves of you, and your disciples.

And as for first strike; what reason other than greed and power that you give strike at all.

 

And with full of his rage, Hate charged himself forward yelling, “For I am a better conqueror!”

And they both continue to battle unbounded.

Death and Desire: Concerning the Young Boy and Old Man

At a fishing hole sat a boy in his thirteenth year; with hopelessness of expression upon his face. And slow in his walk; came by an old man to whom the boy gave unto his thought saying:

“Sir, who is far in age, please, can you answer unto me, what of death, and of desire”? Answered the old man saying: in my judgment child, with face full of loneliness and despair. —

Concerning death: it is only but rest given onto the body for living a busy and merry life.  And of desire, which is of the flesh; is never satisfied, and is forever seeking to be fulfilled: whether be it of virtue or wickedness, its concern is only fulfillment.

Looking upon the old man’s face, spoke again the boy saying: “but sir, old man of wisdom and kind, my heart desires only death”.

Answered not the old man, but thought upon the boys age, and how he had no future vision of old age. And so, began to weep; for he also saw no future vision, and desire to be young again.

The Uncouth Poet

In the night, winter-cold

The Uncouth poet wrote notebook full

Flames dancing, crackling heard, was the wooden stove

He’s possess –like, writing words as if hearing untold stories told

 

Even the mouse of the cabin took notice by pause

On one accord did wolves howl

Coffee cold, bourbon mixed, falls staining the cabin floor

 

He once stood with scholars room-full, even cursing them all

Claiming his eccentric style cease self-intimacy to be the poet,

But a critical task for which he was called.

 

Said what one can tell the poet; what is poetry?

Shall thy soul unto them lie? does not the soul speak to the heart?

If any write from the heart; The Poem,

Is not this alone just cause for the poet to be justified?

 

Snap! Off goes the trap

Unsuccessful the mouse

The uncouth poet from top-lung gives shout

Shut-up you wolves, I’m trying to write!

 

Slammed door, took notice the cabin floor

The mouse lie dead-still, the mouse was no more

Grabs the bourbon to drink, then drinks more

And again—

The uncouth poet wrote—notebook full