To be wrong is the privilege of the other;
To be right is the bane of us all.
The slow death of humanity involves
The clash of separate righteousnesses,
That which we all possess
Across the disparate masses
Which invariably leads to conflict.
Righteousness! we all profess
Across the disparate masses,
And strangely this way we progress
Into a life of clashes!
The sword of truth divides a nation
More than every war combined,
And righteous indignation
Gives us murder in the blind.
Claims extremes of similarities
But still divides,
As with the tides
The cities pull back from the seas.
Not even in those separate spots
Can ever there be one,
As all in nature turns and rots
But rises in the Sun.
Persistent water always overtakes the mighty stone,
As somethings spring from nothing,
Nothing’s spring is overflown
With floods of nature’s former something,
Quite distinct, but not their own.
They all project across
The drowning masses,
Themselves ironically subject
To ‘evil’ righteous classes
Who claim to subdue ‘evil’
With their power over words,
But are the victims of the quill
Of starving peasants and their herds
Who give them dirty names
And turn their rhetoric on them
And make a mockery of fame
And a praxis out of sin,
And, having nothing else to lose,
Will deconstruct all human things
Until not choosing not to choose
Is all that really still remains.
“But if there’s wrong and we see right,
Don’t we ethically report it?”
You can try, but take my insight:
You are going to distort it.
Listen closely, girl in black
And heart on fire with golden flame:
If the revolution isn’t back
The violence is to blame.
The greatest wrong is to be right
Enough to harm another.
Our words are symbols of a blight
We need not to discover.