Between the pages of old and new
Wit and intelligence also tell us what to do
One to the other bicker but agree
The world ends - and none are truly free
And many answers arise and make sense
Groomed, trimmed; suited for an eager mind
trying to make sense of the Big Feast
But at the end of the dinner, for who will grace be?
It's well understood
Right and wrong are murky-shallow pools
A many men have dipped and got wet with hate and this and that.
Still love conquers all: for science, muses and gardens of roses that will flourish
and die.
Yet, they all picked up the pen..with some type of purpose
And if nothing matters, I wished they'd follow their own accord.
But fools tend to manger at devilish foothills of mystery
When they'll think all is explained
Love will still remain
Unexplainable.
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