Cramped and huddled behind
empty pages of anguish
you drink the cold,
strict coffee of logic,
reading Nietzche's gospel,
striving with mortal persistance
to become, at best,
a broken god--to hold
omniscient convictions
of eternal
impotence.
Be still.
Yes, be still for now
and let the subtle
strength of truth patter,
drop by drop, upon you
until your eyes drip with
the scalding fluid of hope--
the only knowledge
worth knowing.
And here, this is for you:
it's not much, of course
but it's all I own,
an olive branch
from a dove.
Please, if you can't
believe in God,
invest in the
Faith of Love.
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