I shall now write a poem, nothing special, just whatever comes out of me...
The truth was revealed.
Oh holy hell.
So now what?
Oh great, nothing special? Bullshit - I did it, I wrote a poem that's only four lines, and yet that flawlessly sums up the entire nature of melancholy that flows through a society consistently harpooned by an endless desire for swift results and immediate answers, without taking the time to worry or even ponder what to do next, leaving scores of people lost and disenchanted, and frankly looking totally foolish!
And I achieved this with no need for greater explanation about what the poem was about. I felt no need to reveal anything that wasn't clear in the immediate lyricism, oh holy crap, I didn't think I'd achieve such greatness till at the earliest in my fifties, wow, but what do I do now?
Wait? Ah man, someone should fucking warn people against doing that!
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