To find rhymes I have to deeply fish,
Using words that at times seem amiss.
And some lines are a crime
Needing prison lifetimes.
I have stretched it too far with this: ghoti.
Philosophy has taught us railings —
The concepts key to social scaling.
But the focus on the moral
Is the locus of my quarrel:
Perfection-seeking leads to failing.
A beast drives our strange compulsions
And after, we wallow in revulsion.
But secret be told,
We love it uncontrolled
And recoil from thoughts of expulsion.
I examine my failures at home.
Just faux pas, for which I atone.
I see no success,
Yet smile; Acquiesce.
Familiar impostor syndrome.
“Philosophy,” cawed out the magpie,
“And selflessness, I claim to live by.
But in truth it’s for naught,
For my soul has been bought:
Without my silver, I would die.”
You have to hit the ball from where it lies. But you don’t need to use the same club. Or, if you think deeply about it, even a club at all.
Reframe? Reform? Reimagine?
She fights in the name of liberty,
Risking her personal security,
But fails to hypothesize
That groups need much compromise:
Freedom’s a lonely purity.