The Enemy of the Good (eideteker) wrote,
The Enemy of the Good

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An exercise in rhyme

A record of ages, he turns the pages; studies the sages and he gauges their respective traits. He apportions attention like the Fates; no rebates—you can't debate once it's too late. As he sees them, he frees them; sprung to life are the friezes upon which the artist eases their likenesses. And the reader confesses, his lessons were never essential in the way that truth can be consequential and even prudential. The task is monumental, but fundamental potential arises, evidential, and belies the lies in their eyes that he'd missed, the humanity so subtly with genius kissed and he's blessed to witness this.

Witness it? You ain't seen shit. Sure, you've dusted off some grit from decrepit volumes of wit, but what of it? You labored; never loved it, got down in it, not up above it. Far from a glove-fit you had to shove it down your throat and feebly hope what they wrote spoke some spark of faint light into the dark night that is your life so rife with strife that to be cut with a knife would be quite alright, thank you very much. But still, you've felt the touch of ages gone long ago and you know something that someday may make you grow.

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