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History 4




The past is clouded and rife with toxins
but it has things we think we need
the present and future (now and later) don't.

We are predisposed to exaggerate or otherwise overstate
the evidence of our experience. Wisdom isn't
made of experience, but of comprehension of
complexity and context, the anticipation of regret
that can't be, won't be averted.

Who tells the tales?
The victors?
No, the survivors.
And what tales are remembered?
The best ones
(not necessarily the truest).
Who determines which are best?
The survivors.
And who remembers them?
The survivors.
Are you beginning to see
a pattern here?

When I was a kid
there was a little bit of world left.
Remnants. Hints.
I didn't know what I was seeing
but I saw it.

You can do nothing
and no one will notice.

What if the body is a place to rest?

Save your resentment for death
which ends all chance of justice.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.