We’ll pass the eyes, and dream.
we’ll look, see, and become what the world
makes us to be. And then, dream of other things.
I dream of a happy place, but . . . .
I see
what it is all going to be.
It must have been good, once,
we must have thought
of beautiful things, a sense, a feeling
of something that will never be.
But passion took us.
On the cross in Jerusalem,
in the ditch in Stalingrad,
burning in Pearl Harbor,
hacked to death in Carthage,
the murder of those in our way.
Oh Buddha, it is too late, too long ago.
Peace, love, and accepting, is not . . . . our way.
We love our country . . . now that it is ours.
They will love us now, because
we have killed them . . .
What?
Who?
The Indians, of course.
Even “Indians” is a Western Civilization word.
They were, and still are, the few left, Native Americans.
The Roman Civilization
could not have done better. But, they did.
While they assimilated others, they grew.
War is not wonderful, but we thrive on the cost.
we thrive, on jobs, on profits,
on the things that
make us rich – the inability to resolve,
resolve, peacefully.
Ah, the profits of that!
Omar, Omar Khayyam,
of course, a despicable Muslim, said,
"The moving Finger writes: and, having writ, Moves on:
nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it". **But dears, for those born outside humanity,
or humility, outside
the touch of culture and education,
I forgive you.
For you may never be able to dream
of a world that realizes that
morals, values, ideals or honor are
all words born and thriving
in the same cauldron
that the moving finger stirs;
nor will ever learn
how to extract these values
from the common ore.
-FRITZ CRYTER
** From “The Rubaiyat Of Omar Khayyam”