There is no truth that is not worth the telling,
For I am too prone to forget
The sting of truth until it hurts again.
There is no love that is not worth recalling,
For I harden all too soon,
Unless affection thaw the petrified synapses.
Should I be proud or humble, seek or declaim?
What is there that I can do
To circumvent the recurrent darkness?
Two follies alternate: that of knowing
And that of rank bewilderment.
This is the time when I must summon up
The essence of my character and choose,
Knowing that any choice is foolish.
Even that knowledge is a benediction.
I have not forgotten the Saharas of Time,
The mocking laughter and the wailing waste.
But one is permitted to build sand castles.
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