Reader, think deeper than the plot, the poem is NOT about a giant. |
There once was a giant, many he held captive Strong opinions he had, though none were adaptive he'd take innocent people and lock them away to argue with him 'til the end of their days forced to put up with his circular logic his fiery views all but demagogic he did this because it was his true passion to squabble with others in an unorganized fashion they'd sit and they'd listen, not knowing his errors his fallcies and loopholes, a logicians terror slowly the giant got bored of so simple opposition he needed the aid of a true rhetorician so one day he captured one skilled in speech and to him the giant began to preach his extensive list of ideas and beliefs all slightly the same, as if a motif and when he was done the man said "is that all?" so the man piece by piece tore apart the whole wall the stances and points of the giant all fell and then one could see, they could see very well that all of the bricks that made up his wall were crumbly and skinny, not sturdy at all the giant sat stunned in teh pile of rubble in awe a small man could cause so much trouble unable to accept that he had been wrong nonsensical rebuttles were released in throngs tried to stay on top, throwing out false sets of proof tried to rebuild the house on which he had no roof but the roof that he built, he built it too thin so when the storms came again the rain fell right in sensing his demise, he yelled in desperation the words he believed would be his salvation he yelled as they rapped his argument in pall "i am still right, for i'm big and you're small i can easily squash you with the slap of my hand and that means i'm right, oh isn't it grand?" the rhetorician replied "i fear not your stature your roof is still weak, for you are no thatcher." |