The uniforms of great men
once amazed me, but what
of the clothes that
you and I must wear?
Of all the fleeting things we
endure . . . why this?
This thing so needless.
Yet, nothing is needless,
and everything is meaningless.
Death is our only respite
from this life-long torment.
How ignorant am I to
think the innocent deserve
not to die in tragedy?
This life is but a speck of eternity . . .
though as for the here, and
as for the now--
I can offer no direction.
In this place of great knowledge,
there is no such thing . . .
No compass points North.
Innocence must die to
fill the purse of another--
and we all must die, but
why not for purpose?
And what better purpose, but
to die -- and finally
have peace.
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