Verities, eternal, list of
Think of a line
The first that comes to mind.
OK: music, that's the thing
(The next line ends with 'sing')
Words mean less than looks:
A picture's worth - how many books?
A woman without a man--
I mean, man, how can?
And food. Ah! Music, Food and Love...
(The next line ends with the stars above)
Philosophy is trickier. Still,
Have we or have we not free will?
Thoughtless, I find I am still here.
But never mind; pass another beer.
This began with a random thought,
(From where did it come, I hear you retort)
Synapses saying not a lot,
An electric expression of God Knows What.
So, what's the trigger?
You'd say, 'go figure'.
It's likely we'll never 'figure' an answer out.
The next line ends with - you guessed it, no doubt.
And did someone mention money?
Filthy lucre, bacon and (groan) honey
- Call it what you will,
Nothing beats the dollar bill.
Last of all comes ordure,
Primogenitor of all the impure
Things we consider unfit
(No, I won't say it)
For normal discourse. So
There we have it, from high to low,
From best to worst
But which comes first?
What is the highest power?
Our animality makes us cower
In the face of death, while
Imagination can make us smile,
Or give a haughty laugh
Because we are blessed with a different path
To the brutish beasts
--The ones we dine on at our feasts;
Believing that we live on
As avatars, or in heaven
(Some place I've heard about
But which I gravely doubt
Exists); giving rise
To the least tenable of verities,
(To my Cartesian mind)
I.e. Organised Religion and
Its belief in a life here after
(The next rhyme, appropriately, is laughter)
But let's not talk about destruction
Of belief system construction;
It's a losing game:
What alternative can you name?
The only mystery is time.
Time; and the ability to rhyme
Because, you see, your mind is not here
And that's a very queer
Notion to get your head around.
At least my feet are firmly on the ground,
To which a head usually attaches
To command the feet with nervous dispatches.
To paraphrase Descartes' axiom:
My feet stink; therefore I am.
This conversation's petering out.
Just as well since the meter's out.
So much for veritable sublimities;
Existence is driven to extremities
Of self justification
Because it bears no relation
Nor similarities
To external realities.
How do I know all this?
Sorry, you are asking the wrong person this.
It's just my first pass at grasping a notion
That resulted from some Brownian motion
Of the mind:
It is not in the pip but in the rind.
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