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by Trigun Author IconMail Icon
Rated: ASR · Poetry · Philosophy · #1981494
About the wretchedness of hope, and the jubilation of a life of utter hopelessness.
Is there a more vile idea man has ever constructed than Hope? This viper that purports herself to the world a lamb? Is she not the twin sister of Faith, both born of Death's seed? But she is the more cunning sibling, her harlotry being more subtle. Faith lures the fool, and many partake of the venom between her legs. She promises that which is not there. The wise man spots her charlatanry and rejects her gift of plague. He is not distracted by her enticing looks, and sniffs out the foulness of her stench. He rightly turns away from the first whore, yet he becomes enraptured by the second. This one promises him that which can be there. Seemingly plausible and less harmful, he then rushes off to bed with her. Yet if you look past the batting eyelashes and charming smile you will find a greater demon hidden underneath what soft skin belies. The smell is more foul, simply masked by potent perfumes. Only the wisest man detects it. 

So brothers and sisters, how can I make you into the wisest of men? How can I convince you of Hope's proper place? That is to say inside a brothel? You know this much, to test all things by their fruit. Let us then examine her's to see if it withstands proper judgment. She places sweet images inside your head, of fruit that succulent,
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