I am sorry Mr Confucius
I have broken the world
It fell apart into ten thousand pieces
of a crystal glass
It dissolved into ten thousand grains
of a dry sand castle
It frayed into ten thousand threads
of a silk cloth
Words became sounds with no meaning
Hugs turned into meaningless sensations
Faces changed into mute colours
The terrifying truth of deep reality
The loneliness of complete unification
The old sages lied
There is no peace in truth
You were right Mr Confucius
The woman's job is to weave
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 3:06 AM UTC
I am sorry Mr Confucius
I have broken the world
It fell apart into ten thousand pieces
of a crystal glass
It dissolved into ten thousand grains
of a dry sand castle
It frayed into ten thousand threads
of a silk cloth
Words became sounds with no meaning
Hugs turned into meaningless sensations
Faces changed into mute colours
The terrifying truth of deep reality
The loneliness of complete unification
The old sages lied
There is no peace in truth
You were right Mr Confucius
The woman's job is to weave
I’m clearly not an original in this sentiment:
“To each his suff'rings: all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan,
The tender for another's pain;
Th' unfeeling for his own.
Yet ah! why should they know their fate?
Since sorrow never comes too late,
And happiness too swiftly flies.
Thought would destroy their paradise.
No more; where ignorance is bliss,
'Tis folly to be wise.”
Thomas Gray, 1742