Link to article: May the seekers be just..
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[[>]] [[module Rate]] [[/>]] To live is to die a better death, To hate is to acknowledge a better state. The death resides within, For the unravelling of meaning. Life is a broken dream, A dream of frowned means. For the deals that are cruel, Are the deals that are fuel. To prevent the calamity, We accept all atrocities. Securing is to contain, To contain is to maintain. The dilemma lies within, Where the mind forgets the meaning. O’ Morals are lost, And so is the truth! Morals are ignored for greater good, So it must be the better death! “No, it’s not. For a better death constitutes morals,” I say, “Yes, it does. For, people die peacefully,” they say. What is a peaceful death without a better life? What is a better life without the revealed truth? For it is truth which we strive, For the truth is the hidden root. Cruelty is a necessity where little can be done, But beauty is lost where that cruelty is none. “Beauty lies in safety and protection,” you say, “But what is to protect when the danger is no more” I say. “Containment is for future aversion,” you exclaim, What part of that do you believe? For all of it remains a claim. To live is to die a better death, What else is there except to wait for the last breath? Knowing you sought the truth and the righteous, With the ending you face, auspicious. To hate is to acknowledge a better state, The state in which you live exalted. Could it be said that the hatred stems from within? But where had it stem if you’ve lost your meaning? Of self, that is, your morals, Which you’ve abandoned for the acclaimed chorals. O the contradictions that have existed, For it is those that make man humane And distinguish man from the twisted, For it is those without, who are inhumane. We seek the righteous without limit, For limitations themselves are unjust. So, don’t go seek and become timid, For it is the seekers who are just. To live is to die a better death, And that death may only be attained through a life of risk. Like a bed of thorns hidden as a floral wreath, For the bed of roses is a trap that whisk. So, O puppet of the flawed Foundation, regain your morals and search the truth, For if you seek a better death, we may even accept your ruth. [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box]] [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]