(On Tolerance)

The correct title of this article is {On Tolerance}. Technical restrictions cause it to be displayed here with parentheses.

By: Machiavelli Posted on: August 16, 2005

Eventuality is iron hands; it rends.
Makes tired bodies of ready men
As souls with bent lose their intent.
He kills kin, rapes what his rhetoric defends;
Wings tear wings on Arcadian winds.

On the forest isle, south in eastern sea
Both bane and brother easily bade to sleep
by a blade in sleep; a mother never lives to
See her offspring's loss of memory
and sodomy of piety.
A forest isle, south in eastern sea, ever fertile of tragedy
Whose whispers fall as fallow seed

Dreams laced with Chaos manifest
Lest we aim our blame within; suspects
Are drawn by victims of unrest, never
Those who know their crimes best--[:]
Embers never spent to give the fire a rest.

Build a bridge and burn it down
Blame Eventuality (Entropy's crown)
Drown out the fire and further singe
Your hair, your brother;
Further purge your own ledger with furious sound.

Light and Darkness, bury your hatchet;
Right and Wrong cease your nature
Your lifelong battles label traitor
to find indiff'rence easy capture--
Even for a harlot. And within
Such simple sin, in drinking this wind
of change to simplicity within indifferent coma
[we] must [we] let hands fall from Shallam to Ashtan
fingerlocked, 'ere we lock horns on the thorn'ed cuirass
adorning the hearts of belief?
Let hands fall together in apathy when
Our ideals and identities are blown away with the leaves.

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Syntactic notes:
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[] denote contents which are both omitted and included when reading
(e.g. "[We] Die." is read simultaneously as "We die." and "Die.")