Monday, 3 September 2012

The Unhappy Condition

Every man is for himself, and with his death everything is dead for him.
Yet each assumes he is worthy to be loved by others.
Contrary to order, the world tends towards itself.
They want to be great and cannot see that they are small.
The further evil of deliberate self-delusion.
To be so full of faults yet take every precaution to hide them from themselves and others.
Yet knowing their faults are worthy of contempt. 
They react in the most unjust and criminal passion.
Their deadly hatred for the truth turned outward.
They cannot eliminate this truth in themselves. Not being able to destroy it in themselves they destroy each other.
And so they come to an end in themselves and only the faults remain. 
- B. Wheatley

Most of the poetry I write is "found", in random words or the pages of a book or notes in a meeting, this poem was found in Blaise Pascal's book The Mind on Fire.

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