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To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. -The Worthily Beloved William Shakespeare

Friday, April 9, 2010

Man's Fall

Distraught from aggression was mankind
who instigated with their obsession their decline,
for they were approached with a fee,
stemmed from their greedy plea.

Agitation poured from the disintegration
of their so necessitated modern predation
which, so enhanced with their sweaty hands,
appeared to meet their cruel demands.

Yet the vision unclear did incorrectly them steer,
for their evil bore evil within their crude career.
Strength it seemed but weakness was it truly deemed,
though the harm to retrieve and stress to receive never leaned.

Man's actions proved to be mere distractions,
deviations from their legitimate creations.
The fate they made did cause satisfaction its fade,
and placed their inevitability beneath a dreary shade.

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