Rabbits live in the shadows of chairs
their long ears rest gently against the door
photons, obstacles - all they need
like the first living things on earth
like the first living things on earth
like their very first fear, their very first joy
endless strings of misplaced questions
most of them assuming intention
or suggest that an explanation exists
because whatever lives is afraid, alert as I am now
I constantly process data
most of it distorted by emotion
dressing false conclusions up as birds
I weave opinions for myself out of fallacies
I judge things too hastily
because, after all — what is all this?
I think I have no answers
to a single real question
only quieter and quieter with fear
though there should be nothing to fear — because
what cannot be changed remains
whatever I do
others will still break things, still make war
still consume and believe in nonsense
and whatever you say
until someone feels grace in their heart
until empathy floods their mind
with profound compassion
they will only smile at you
step over the suffering of others
and you can say anything to them
they will carry on
as they did before.
as they did before.
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