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  • NOBLE POETRY  

  • A DAY OF PHILOSOPHISING

     

    "Why do you complain, with your constant and gloomy pessimism, that the gift of life is untrue, that you are torn and crucified like a prisoner on a cross for twelve hours a day, that you do not have enough to earn your bread to pay the rent, and that you are tired of the struggle for existence, which is reborn as a Promethean organ? - all is in vain, and nowadays it's only a dream and a lamentation, and yet you're always dreaming, chasing after unrealizable dreams and chasing after failed fortune: your deluded visions are like those of a naive child who is obsessed and determined to do everything!"

    Hurt me not, and let no man wield over my head the sword of Damocles with his arbitrary judgments! With little hope, I strove to save what was destined to be destroyed by the destructive time of the age! And if I, for the heaven-feeling on earth, Desire love, it can only be Because Cupid, and Cupid's arrow, In secret conspiracy, Deliberately miscarried my whimsical heart!

    - "You must not yet, you have other things to do in this world!" - What could I think of perfect happiness, as a heavenly gift not made for men! - If whimsy could be some foolish season of blessed nature? Or tiny sapling of a tree, Clinging, with its clawed and unbroken life-roots, To the humus-body of the nourishing mother earth? - That exists and therefore lives in the struggling end, as a survivor 
    and for thy one half-centred and selfish sake thy fate of fortune shall be no easier, no more revolving. I would be a hedgehog, walking in hiding, and as the inedible lunch of beasts, a resourceful hedgehog, who may catch his armour-spiked suba, as an ant's diligence, and with sufficient speed, if the approaching danger comes and threatens!

    Anxious musings are lurking like a secret malignancy in thy half-frightened heart, in the hiding-places of thy rabbit-heartedness! No humanity! They have sold all the crumbs and fragments of their fragments! All would do better if the human conscience were to settle itself in secret tunnels of conscience, according to moral rules, blessed with the blood of honesty!

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