"validate" poems
I am facing yet another war, and I know you are too.
So please know,
This battle is worth fighting for you.
I rather be loved by the outcasted,
Then to be hated by the royalty.
But I will always be a princess suited in metal armor.
I promise to hold your hand and clense you of your wounds,
I promise to always listen, validate, and accept you no matter what weight, age, color, size, sexuality or diagnosis.
I promise to always fight for your safe haven to become the world you live in.
Even if you do not think you are worth it,
I always will.
Equality for all,
Or equality for none.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 1:49 AM UTC
I chose feminism because I believe in equality between genders.
because I’m against gender roles, men who need a woman to get their **** done are not “cute” and are nothing but spoiled little brats.
because my virginity, my body hair and how I dress up are none of your business.
I chose feminism because I’m not a *** machine nor a baby producer I value much much more than that.
because I don’t need a man to validate my self worth, I already know what I’m worth.
because in some countries ***** women are forced to spend the rest of their life under the same roof as their assaulter.
I chose feminism because a woman who speak up and raise her voice is a ***** .
because in my city a woman was beaten by her husband the night of their wedding because she didn’t “bleed” in the ***********
I chose to speak up because an 8 year old Yemeni girl died of internal injuries at the hands of 40 year old husband on their wedding night.
because ****** is not a ***** word and my periods are not disgusting.
because more women need to speak up and speak for their rights
I chose feminism and everyone should do the same .
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
The only proper way to be a conversationalist is to convince yourself that you’re boring. If you can strip back the hard shell of the ego, and look down on yourself from the eyes of an apathetic God, you will likely (and hopefully) see just how boring you really are. It isn’t a sin to be boring, in fact there are many advantages to honest self-depreciation.
The main advantage, is the way you approach a conversation. “Interesting” people find it difficult to silence the affected score-keeper that dominates their internal dialogue and ruins any chance of an honest and engaged conversation. It is the voice that reminds you to show interest with your body language, and keep a dumb happy gaze laser pointed into their eyes. This dialogue is obsessed with authenticity and genuine conversation, and therefore a natural sociopath.
Luckily, you are the stunning definition of boredom, an extracted dictionary cut-out of un-interesting, and nobody could possibly give a rats-ass what you have to think—least of all the Voice that controls the inner-dialogue. That Voice has packed it up to find a more interesting vessel…maybe the person standing across from you in conversation.
Because you are so boring, and they are the Oxford personification of intellect and fascination, you should pay careful attention to what they say—no time to worry about how they’re perceiving your reaction to whatever it is they’re saying. You are too busy to notice what sort of body language you may or may not be using to validate their half of the conversation. Instead, your time is spent carefully hanging on their every word, digesting it and projecting the whole bit into a colourful scene in your imagination. Instead, you’re too lost in the excitement of their infinitely more interesting life and impossible wealth of knowledge offered to you with each word that they speak. Instead, you are actually listening to the words that come out of their mouth and not the ones that speak to you from the inside of your own mind.
This is what it means to be in conversation. This was the point of our social nature. And in a world of needy social-media junkies grabbing at the cuffs of potential ‘followers’ and ‘likes’ and trendy passer-by’s, the last thing anyone needs is the high-pitched whine of another “interesting” millennial.
Lucky for you, you boring sack of yawning sloths, that you aren’t interesting too.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
Image is everything, spin and white lies are addictive, destined to become ugly truths in a malevolent world, it's all about increasing your number, and binding to the best people available; you'll enter their clique in order to further enhance your image and validate your own false reality; once your host is unable to enhance your façade, they will be discarded; and you will move on to the best people available to you; in order to further enhance your image and validate your false reality.
This cycle is destined to go on and on and on throughout your entire life-cycle.
Friends and family will become worthless in time, becoming just one of social climbings many downfalls.
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
It's funny that I can sit here and say
that my life is something, when I was lazy today.
I stayed inside, watched a movie or two
Cried my eyes out, feeling rather blue.
But after it was over, reality came back
and I realized that I... hadn't done jack.
Sure, I had felt, I had feared, I had wished,
I had procrastinated, and stuck up my fist.
In today's world, however, what does it mean
if you're not an athlete or mathlete; you're just unseen
Unseen because you have blocked yourself completely out
from the world, from danger, from the coming drought
of people who actually cared about others
and not just their next Friday night lovers.
Can I call myself accomplished at high
when all I've done is weasel my way by?
Using the bare minimum of my brain power.
Waisting little energy staying up for hours.
I've been lazy.
I AM lazy.
But should that validate anything I've done?
Should I waste away a life that's only just begun?
Or should I stop being lazy, here and today,
turn off the device, take a look around at... May?
That's the month, isn't it so?
I can't remember, do you even know?
I have been stuck in a grave mindset
that blocks out every responsibility or threat;
but I think I should awake
and see the world for it's mistakes
yet still embrace it 's wit
and never ever never quit.
I'm lazy, yes, but I can make my life something.
Because after all, we all started as nothing.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 1:59 PM UTC
"Commitment issues"
Commitment: a designated set of time
Issues: problems
So I cannot, successfully,
Designate an "appropriate" amount of time
To a relationship
Is that right?
Keep in mind,
These women enter my life
And I tell them I don't believe in marriage
And they say "that's ok"
Until it's not.
Maybe it's a comment I made
Or maybe they forgot
But something changes over time
And I am not an object
I am not some possession
That people can lay claims to
I am a human
With ever-changing needs and desires
With thoughts and feelings
And my own perception of reality
So maybe I get anxious when people
Try to put some hold on me
You chalk it up to commitment issues
What if I just don't like feeling owned?
What if I simply refuse
To let anyone remove my autonomy?
And what's even wrong with that?
Who gets to decide what is an
"Appropriate" amount of time?
Oh, wait,
That's "forever" right?
Says who?
Why should I continue to chase this
Socially-constructed dream
Of spending my entire life with one person
If that's not what makes me happy?
Trust me, I've tried for a long time
And I could never seem to find
A singular being
Who I'd willingly spend eternity with
If that even exists
And until this point
I've been unhappy most of my life
Reflecting on my failed attempts at
Happy monogamy
I am finally happy now
Free love is beautiful
It has liberated my soul
It has liberated my love
And my sense of self
For once I feel happy most days
I am focusing on myself now
Instead of pouring everything into another
I'm growing more everyday
And learning more about who I am
But you just brush that off
Saying my polyamorous identification
Is a manifestation
Of some fear of commitment
It couldn't possibly be the real me
It couldn't possibly be the way I feel happiest
Because it's not the "normal" way to desire?
It's not the logical form of love?
Or it's just different
Or it's just new
And you rejecting it within me
Means you aren't accepting me for who I am
In this moment
If that's the case
Then I don't know who you're in love with
Because this is who I am
Whether you like it
Or disagree with it
Or not
This is who I am
And I'm so over
Trying to validate
Justify
And explain myself
Just because someone disagrees with my form of loving
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 11:45 PM UTC
Loving yourself
Doesn't mean be self absorbed
Doesn't mean be a total ****
Because you need to love yourself
Loving yourself
Is recognizing you're human
And that you make mistakes
And that it's okay to make mistakes
Loving yourself
Is when you mess up really bad
When you say the wrong things
But you go back to try and fix them to validate you're not a piece of ****
Loving yourself
Means that when you go back and try to fix things
And you aren't able to fix things
You lift yourself up anyway because you know you tried to fix it
Loving yourself
Doesn't mean tiptoeing
Around what bothers you
It means you face your fears and realize it's not the end of the world to fail
Loving yourself
Is realizing that the first step to success
Is failure
That falling is good because you try again until you get it right, not give up
Loving yourself
Is having persistence
To prove them all wrong
And not get upset when you can't because sometimes you can't
Loving yourself
Is admiring your trying
Because you should be proud that you try to make things right and you try to make things better
Not only for me, but for yourself, because it bothers you too, to be so mean
Loving yourself
Doesn't mean you look down on others
It means you accept everybody, even your enemies, those that hurt you
You just don't look down on yourself
Loving yourself
Is when someone tells you you're horrible
But you know better than what they say because you know you try and you try so hard
You stand tall but
Loving yourself
Doesn't mean you're better
Because everyone is human and you make mistakes too
You don't hate on the bullies because they hurt just like you and you won't make the mistakes they do
Loving yourself
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
So much bile
so much poison
I wonder how
you are alive
with these proportions
One can only be a thorn
or a shard
a shard your are
that I can validate
a piercing one at that
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 8:52 PM UTC
I am lost for words, as I am empathic with the planet.
Although we truly stand in line for death and the afterlife, it is important that we mother our young.
I do not deny the allurement of sociopathic inclinations and I heartily validate the sexuality of suburban expression.
But, we both know – politicians rise like winged beasts from the murky depths of sociological oceans.
Can I touch your skin and give you compliments?
I love your being, just as it is.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
The Physics of Love: The Equivalency Fallacy
the poet places his Sunday porcelain coffee mug
upon his bare chest, purposed to heat the heart to a
higher degree, equal to hers, next door, three feet away,
in their communal bed
two identical alarm clocks, one on each nightstand,
confirms the degree differential, for far beyond time-telling,
it informs on me, providing the room temperature,
and her side of the bed, 5 degrees warmer
the collegial scientists posit theoretical excuses,
the rooms wind currents, proximity to the A/C, body mass,
all refuted after visual and mechanical inspection,
all indelible proofs of the Equivalency Fallacy
despite the visual evidence abounding all around,
despite the surrounding starlike quantity of busted,
love songs, poems and the other artistic churn,
depicting the principle, one requires love physics to validate the
living principle for the living, that love is rarely identical
in quantitative quality, typology, representation and
manifestations measurable
each greets the other with morning declarations of
mutuality, trying to find those hundred different ways
to love her/him today, employing imaginative artifice to proof
the impossibility, that in every aspect your living love ability
is precious capital precision equal
and ha! each love is the greater...
you knew this?
then you knew, his coffee spills (intentionally?) and the
Fighting Fallacy rules,
every thing is fair in love and war, for they too, are
identical and equal, in so many ways,
but never quantifiable exactly
8:33am, 73 degrees, on my side
11/12/17
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 8:45 AM UTC
today is my birthday.
the day i was born.
the day my faith was just started.
today,
i got a new number.
i got a plus one for my age.
nothing different.
it's just an ordinary day like usual.
but at the start of the day, i got surprises from my beloved people.
i am so grateful, for everything, today (and the other days).
i spent my time with my person & had much fun.
but you know what,
once i entered my room, the feelings changed.
i put my things to its own place,
i changed my clothes, the feelings got worse.
i laid my body on the bed,
and BAM
my tears broke.
it just broke
my feelings reduced me to tears with its own "things"
one thing..
i don't usually feel blue on my bday
but today,
i can't even validate my feelings.
everything just messed up the moment i laid my body, or should i keep walking?
is it my fault to gave my body a rest?
i shouldn't be stop, right?
the head keep talking.
and my heart sinks.
Sep 7, 2022
Sep 7, 2022 at 4:08 AM UTC
I smile when my profile picture gets 50 likes
but would it mean more
if I liked my face without the assurance of others?
Maybe not,
I'm a millennial, after all.
1994, born and raised
a "90's kid."
I tweeted that...it got 12 favorites.
Too bad I can't favorite my internal thoughts
in order to validate them without sharing them.
I sent that as an iMessage
to my friend who responded
"#deep."
I'm posting this poem on the internet
so that people I don't know can read it.
Maybe they'll even leave a comment.
I say what I feel,
via text message,
followed by an emoji and a hashtag
as a sort of millennial footnote,
minus the APA style.
I'll use LOL style
or FML style
or the style of ironically using texting lingo
to prove that I'm not #basic.
I, Lex the Millennial,
wrote this poem on my iPhone 6.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 9:02 PM UTC
We all want to be liked
To have people see
The version of ourselves
We choose to be
And say, yeah
That's someone I admire
I aspire to be like
We all want someone
To look back on
The snapshots we've accrued
Over years of holidays,
***** nights,
And picture perfect food
And say, look
Here's someone who's got things sussed
We all want someone
To validate our lives
To comment that we're doing just fine
You're great
You're pretty
Your smart
Well, I guess that's a good start
We all want someone
To click that **** thumb
And validate the effort
Of keeping the mask on
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 3:07 AM UTC
I am standing
at the mirror
loving every scarred
unruly thread unraveling
in this breathing tapestry
it wasn’t my fault
what happened to me
my patterns were scored
long before I knifed them in
over and over again
picking people and paths
to validate my false hypotheses
unworthy kept me from
letting you love every one
of these holy spastic molecules
until I loosed grip
on erroneous
self-loathing
and I am so sorry
I really needed you
but I couldn’t let you
be there for me
because I wasn’t
and now,
here I am…
scoping silver under glass
making silly faces for me
blowing kisses at myself
and giving a little wink
over my shoulder
as I walk out
able to embrace
the wild unknowns
that await me
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 1:26 PM UTC
In the face of persecution, one can drift away into dreamy fabrications of swishing and gorgeous hairstyles – jealous of the seagull as it dismounts the lofty perch of the streetlight and gracefully swoops away into the distance.
The moment of self-loathing and raging sabotage is nothing more than a serial false loyalty.
I validate your alphabet where there is simplicity within the intricate complexities, and where the yearling suckles the lactations of its mother.
Trauma has pre-natal connections where silent screams ripple throughout eternity. Therefore, calmly observe the stiff upper lip of deluded professionalism, and describe the realistic mirage before you. Participation in laughter is not always rooted in sincerity.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
I grasp onto the gasps and awe of some stranger
I do it all reckless, and so unafraid by this danger
I tango with the early hours and my own ***** mind
I beg for more from the phone screen I hide behind
I play with these loose holds and these unattached strings
I play with their pleasure, revel in the way they moan and sing
I validate my own worth through this self I display
I almost don't recognize the person on my mirror today
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 10:04 AM UTC
They say we're degenerates
as we walk with sore shoulders,
flimsy backs, fractured dreams.
The word millennial is used like
some derogatory word --
we're meant to feel like ****
because our parents failed us.
Because smartphones help us
release dopamine.
Because we're addicted to
virtual realities.
Because we **** strangers
that we hope validate us.
No one understands why
the news says this about drugs
and this about violence -- or why
we do 'those things' and if we
have any 'goddamn sense'.
It's beyond them.
Maybe beyond us.
It's higher than our weekends;
lower than our expectations.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 8:51 PM UTC
The night becomes you -
hair coiffed in fashion
illuminated eyes reveal attraction,
the scent of body oil
pervasive,
ambient music evolves
persuasive
savory rhetoric,
cabernet erodes my inhibition
no contrition, turn the ignition.
The night becomes you -
you wear it well
an amalgam,
ardor and insouciance -
redefining glamour,
ephemeral moments
dial down the sunlight,
I am slain - voice and accent
weave their spell;
black dust coat, white hat,
a pair of posh boots
they live to tell.
The night becomes you
rhyme scheme - lyrical poetry
sophisticated venue, table for two
ensconced, the
leather lounge,
similitude within difference;
undulation - cadences of
counterpoint -
poise and peril of duality
we inhabit the floor.
Postprandial, conversation extempore;
machinations of intoxicating discourse,
I could drink your words -
artistic milieu- beguiling imagery,
sonant susurrations
penetrate my being.
The night becomes you -
theoretical locutions
phrasing depth and humor,
undiluted amour, tensions resolve
frame by frame,
solidify the affair
and validate the rumor
subsumed in sequence, pulsating,
igniting the sapid interior flame
silver screen ending,
effusive reviews
two hearts collide and form one;
the cherub's arrow finds its aim.
©2008 & 2011 W.S. Warner
Sep 22, 2011
Sep 22, 2011 at 10:34 PM UTC
You never were a hater,
But you tried to be a player.
You tried to come off cool,
But there's a devil in your lair.
You tried to be a good one,
But they talk behind your back.
They're plotting, they're wotnotting,
And they're planning their attack.
They severed your reality -
They twisted every turn.
They're burning and they're churning,
They don't render what you yearn.
Then panic triggers fever,
And you feel the fever burn.
If they keep on pushing,
Those suckers gonna learn.
Then the witness understands.
There is reason for concern.
There is a new commander -
And oh! The worm has turned.
What could you do?
You never knew.
How could have you?
No-one told you.
Misery is glue,
Sticks to you.
You never were a villain
Till they clotted up your chill.
You never needed anyone
To tell you what you feel.
They only know to validate
Themselves - they never love.
If it suits their motives,
They will bite, and kick and shove.
There never was a heartache
That you could not overcome.
You have to have a heart that's hard.
So go out and get you one.
Trample loosers under foot,
Or they'll be too burdensome.
Keep your left hand from your right,
And keep your lovers under thumb.
Finally, you start to see
That life is just a loaded gun.
You can never stop to rest,
You're always on the run.
What could you do?
You never knew.
How could have you?
No-one told you.
Misery is glue,
Sticks to you.
You master all that you survey, Everybody knows your name.
Cream rises to the top -
You are the winner of the game.
If you gave them half the chance,
They would cut you down.
You forever have to watch your back,
Never let them gather 'round.
You didn't try to rule the world,
You only wanted to survive.
If they had their way,
You would no longer be alive.
Your meter's getting weaker,
But you strive to make it through.
You've trudged thicker purposes,
You always make it through.
They will give it all they've got
When they finally come for you.
You have never had a moment's peace,
'Cause misery is glue.
What could you do?
You never knew.
How could have you?
No-one told you.
Misery is glue,
Sticks to you.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
Lamenting lost love
hidden behind harmonies,
(synonymous to symphony)
resonates absently.
Like making love
to a stranger.
Like you make love
to me.
Void of all passion,
like revenge of apathy.
Apathetic entirely,
the emptiness that fuels you
emphasizes decrees.
Standard-less standards
validate your need
to dismantle the mantled,
and devour the diseased,
to command and to seize,
to exploit the exploited,
and explore every scene—
every pelvis, and every scream.
How did I fall for such a—
loveless being?
Better yet,
How do I disintegrate re-memories,
Or abolish aplitic fallacies,
and survive soullessly?
(How must I do these things!?)
Here I plead
surrounded, unattentively,
summoning recognition
for the being
whom resides in me.
Resurrecting old wounds,
(chore almost seems daily)
almost seems like it’s alive,
like maybe one day
it might save me.
More likely, one day
it will concave me.
But without knowledge
there is no upset.
And no upset means
no you and me.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC
Look at the clouds
Look how they move for you.
Look at the crowd
their words they're saying to you.
Parking full, so no cars to chase
but still let's lie down here
make the world stationery in our heads.
Let's just forget all common sense and
leave elephants about the place.
Words that lack sentiment
yet need to validate.
Look at your verbs,
so in demand, so imperative!
The notion of emotion
is unable to compute.
A cacophony of love without solitude.
Signs without direction
on a two way street.
Let's go to outer space
as our bodies collide like the big bang
The moon will be too modest to shine in
the presence of your face.
Look at the clouds
look how they move for you
so the stars can disperse through
through for you.
When I look into your eyes
I see the world as it should be
before mankind got to grips with machinery.
Your ****** expression reads like a deer in headlights
as you make headlines on the evening news,
my daily summary of events that happen
in the life of me, myself and caffeine.
I'm aware that I'm the legs to your table
but I'm not so stable, I'm about to break.
I'm the root the keeps your grounded
but the soils getting dry.
Sun-lights long shone from our skies
and we can't photosynthesise
when your stork lacks a spine of support.
It's a cycle that needs to change,
If our fruits to ripe.
So, put a pipe in your gripe
and learn the twelve letter word.
So the ship can get a sail.
Look at the crowd
the words they're screaming at you.
Look how they turn around wearing my face
then disappear.
When I look in to your eyes
I see the world before it lost it's
innocence.
What do you see when you look in mine?
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
I sit holding my aching head in calloused hands
experiencing ‘forlorn’
a worn soul aged beyond the calendar
dreary eyes look upon the state of humanity
irradiated babies trading rabies with deviants
live on pay per view
seeing the shape of famous faces
manipulated flesh blankly posed
only desperate oculars show the truth
darting frantically form mirror to mirror
attempting to validate existence through reflection
but not like the monks in Tibet
regret fills bent cheekbones
spackled with Botox and raspberry jam
thinning peak aligns with the occasional grey strand
and I sit wishing only to see people love themselves
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
His rasping grumbles define hunger, louder than my stomach
complains about the seven hours since breakfast,
Grunts replace the pry of a commanding tongue, eager to devour, or a feathery graze past the
hook in my collarbone, a tender nip at the crescent of flesh that
peeks below my white plastic earring.
Gutturals guide our transition from a stained mattress to a rickety desk where
Frenetic eyes validate the arch of my back.
Wild thrusts push us perpendicular.
Undoubtedly, my howls alert the neighbors.
If not, then the neglected crashes of my plummeting clutter or the unfaltering thud of my head
pounding the half closed window can attest:
We mean business.
The tired floor creaks ‘nd cranks as erratic lunges hasten.
(grasping his shoulders tighter than a lone, wrinkled hand grips the pepper spray in her bag)
I brace that swelling itch, my hips shudder as it consumes, throbs, and then
Electrifies to axons from dendrites.
And he doesn’t miss a beat— more jabs **** my liver.
Jun 1, 2010
Jun 1, 2010 at 4:20 PM UTC
A Reading from the Book of Puppets
**Her
Ventriloquist venom is never ending
engineering every word I should say**
Pity me as her words drip down from my mouth
Look to me... my paralyzing awkwardness admonishes all attempts at paucity
the ***** of vernacular continues
Manifest as a million babble born words
look at her and you’ll know why
***Would you sell your soul
if you spoke staccato and she smiled sadistic?***
And when she’s not there
***I lay prostrate on the railroad tracks
of her impending presence***
restrained
and retrained in the tailisman rope of your arrival
Look there now, a Tongue tied in knots, a mind firing (shots)
I am reduced
she is labyrinthine, in both style, and substance,
a sapiosexual maze, a soothing syrup mixed with
biter bile
why then does
nothing feel better than to see her smile
Why validate her pleasure
with my defeats?
Stuck and ****** into a singular melodious smile, the tune of which I can’t help but dance to
Why? Because at the end of the day
your eyes jut out
candelabras in defiance the night
notifying the world
of all you want but have yet to receive
a shallow existence .... a marked man... a million morbid motifs
made of mucus and stuttered star beams
You are that rare being, a glimpse at myself both wretched and alluring
A soul already tainted::: still I seek to embrue, the boredom
I am voiceless
in this decaffinated life
a tendril of hair
a woman domestic
a shadowland chaser
a light that’s poetic
The addictive tape worm of my soul
cdh
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 1:15 AM UTC
Is humanism Utopian?
You really have to think about it.
Or is it rather more dystopian?
No, then I think you’d never doubt it.
It seems that disbelief is best.
Humanism owes a debt
to thinkers of the Enlightenment,
although I haven’t paid it yet,
I think of it as my entitlement
to settle it at some behest.
I very early cleared my mind of Kant,
experiencing a vast relief,
approaching his chef d’oeuvres extant;
removing knowledge to allow belief;
the opposite of what he had expressed.
It occurred to me I ought to dig up
(or should I say instead ex-hume?)
what constitutes at least an egg-cup-
full of wisdom that I might consume
with non-platonic zest.
But wondering how on earth to do so
and thinking he might hold the key,
I fixed my sights on Jean Jacques Rousseau
and set sail for my destiny,
while trying not to feel depressed.
Voltaire’s voices loudly rang in deaf ears
as did the Persian Letters of Montesquieu
and failed to still my latent fears.
And thus I felt no need to rescue
Adam Smith (morality-obsessed).
To put Descartes before the Horse-
men of the Apocalypse
War, famine, pestilence and worse.
Who could guess it would eclipse
my thought, wherefore I was oppressed.
Or take the case of Denis Diderot
a friend of Hume and others seedier.
and one you might consider so
rash as to produce an encyclopedia
to get his knowledge off his chest.
That precious quality of truth
was Mary Ann’s# description of it.
It would not take a Sherlock sleuth
to simply thus produce a conviction of it:
an elementary request.
I cut my questing teeth on Russell.
His secular logic had a profound effect
and seemed to stir each red corpuscle
inhabiting this fervid non-sect-
arian but doubting breast.
I later turned my eye on Dawkins,
and his concern with my divine delusion.
A sceptic whose inspiring squawkings
validate my disillusion
and emphasise an ill-starred quest.
And so I felt the pointlessness of it.
Progress is the best end for a man to see
And belief simply produced less profit
for reality’s dispelling of my fantasy.
So, in the end, I acquiesced.
#Mary Ann Evans, aka George Eliot, in Adam Bede
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC