And the choosing of the ten
Among the virgins is not random
For ten is purity;
And so are virgins
And these fresh flowers
That bloom so well
Knew that which a lamp does
For it is a revelation
To those eyes that see less
And light to the eternal path
The eye must see these;
Not things of just pen and paper
Although they carry what drives men
But we are mutants in the army
Forever fashioning and refashioning
Propelling the self into varying likeness
Unto the kingdom
This is not our identity crisis
For sameness is our due
If and when we would decide to read poetry or a piece of discerning article a day, our world is, then headed for a change. No magic potion whatsoever: if there were, politicians would have used it a long time ago. Our mind is all that we have; the only exception to tricks of all corners and angles. Enjoy the luxury and peace of poetry...
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