Honor your ancestors, yes?
But some take that to extremes.
Even going so far
As to apply it to themselves,
In the physical sense & mental.
That being the oldest of them,
Instinct & emotion.

For to them the mind is wasted,
For them the body is nothing.
For them the mind is nothing,
For to the body of it is wasted.

In the sense that they are anymore
Man than any other kind of animal,
A concept so tiringly clung to.
So thoroughly discussed is mankind
That its philosophies are disgusting,
Unrecognizably distorted.
Those in actuality & reality,
Cloaked by sick games of telephone.

For to honor pridefulness,
For to shame modesty.
For from pride is derived honor,
For from shame is made modest.

If by death die the lies,
Then execution is the only honesty.
Then dying is the truest mercy.

For therein, what is just?

If in the journey of life
We have neglected to have collected
That of the mind;
If in the path of destiny
We have stalled not to have gathered
That of the soul:
To have connection to nothing,
Free from attachment,
But not to have been liberated.

For three are the siblings.

Yet, thee are siblings;
How shamefully you treat family,
How scornful you are of relatives.
Friends? No!
Acquaintances? Not!
Neighbors? Get lost!
What fields you salt
With crops you allow rot,
Clipping the stems of the spoiled
And smashing in the ripened.

Countless leaves of these branches.