Narcistheism: The Antithesis of Compassion

A torn, dead parasol caught in callous winds
Without escape. A terrible event this reminds.

Achilles, warrior of the Iliad, with a heart
Swelling with grief fell from the grace
Of his old ways. Around Troy trace
The lust of revenge, vengeance, to start.

Chasing understanding in a war torn reality
Keeps us from living. Fear of brutality
Leaves a chink in our armor strong.
I know it wasn’t a matter of right or wrong.
First to violence survives in the end
But there’s no life to live in pretend.

Did either Achilles or Hector survive?
Walking separate paths to a funeral blaze,
Stuck behind the jaws of Cerberus forever.
What did it prove?

Today we sit on Mt. Olympus
Casting judgment from thrones.
A shifted paradigm of the opus
Called Humanity. The divines
Who never see thorns on roses.

We still have miles to crawl on uneven cobblestones.
The path is uncertain; will we see before we turn to bones?

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