The peaces of mind
with the pieces you see.
Ignoring the mess,
fucking catastrophe,

that lazy thought brings
when short sighted you see.
Imagine the future,
pretend prophesy.

The ends are primary,
strictly necessary,
must be known to judge
the means that will be.

But foretellers you aren't,
your tellers are wrought,
with consequence bought,
from action not thought.

Justified. Righteous.
Pretentious you'll be,
when pride all consuming
clouds sight constantly.

Finding excuses to
stand on the fifth.
Can't find more ways?
What a damn myth.

Sacrificing others?
Simply mad mockery
when afterwards shouting
"Congratulate me!"

When shadow arises,
"We must genocide them!"
instead of a scapel
for simple excision.

Do what is necessary?
Yea sure, absolutely,
but perhaps cling to
shreds of morality.

Fine. Choose your means,
but look at your ends.
Forsaken. Abandoned.
Alone without friends.

Creation is stronger
with all to defend.
Ends would justify
means to make mend.

Penned by my hand on the 9th of Ero, in the year 954 AF.