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What good, in existence, would there be
If our lives were as plain as black coffee?
If all the wildness of our expressions were tame
Devoid of reason, genuine or lame

Where would all the madness of fun go?
A rush of blood to the head? No!
If all the razzmatazz of play were forbidden
Would not all of life’s gains be hidden?

We were meant to be each other’s friend
Until we were ordered to bring it to an end
How unnatural is the theory of malice
Handed down to children like a blessed chalice

We drink from the cup of enmity
And become drenched spirits bringing calamity
Forgetting the primitive instinct of reaching out
Now, with bitterness within and love without

One is a loner; two is company
A dorm of desolation or a hall of harmony
Certainly we’d think we were sufficient enough
Until we experience others to help us through the rough

Luke O. Ogar