So I got bored at work last night and started scribbling down random lines. I ended up with twenty four lines in three stanzas; figured it couldn't hurt to actually add something to the Imaginari, so here you go. It's untitled, and it shall stay that way. Though I considered naming it 'Orange Kid FM.' 
Divine it is when once is found
Blessed be, like holy ground.
Oceans part and rivers swell
in concert with the sweetest bell.
Unified and won't divide,
The joining of brings naught but pride.
Bred in love, raised in care,
The cycle resets, all is fair.
If such were true to all man equal,
We'd have no wars, they'd get no sequel.
A perfect planet free from pain
would quite be pointless, dull, insane.
War, Greed, Strife, Pestilence, Disease,
All these terms, they must exist, for man to feel at ease.
If such cold concepts go unrepresented,
We'd all give up, nothing resented.
So how could we be happy if no opposite exists?
Could we feel pride, or love, or the desire to persist?
Or would we sink so low as to define that deadly list?
Another cycle to repeat, an obscuring foggy mist.
So how, you ask, did we find this tangent to explore?
Little of love could possibly be this planet's only cure.
But ah! There lies the riddle, of this can I be sure,
None yet know the answer, and rightly so, it is a bore.
I struggled with that last line, and I am unhappy with it at this point, but it does get whatever obscure point I was trying to make across.
I don't think I was really going for anything with this poem, it just sort of happened.

Divine it is when once is found
Blessed be, like holy ground.
Oceans part and rivers swell
in concert with the sweetest bell.
Unified and won't divide,
The joining of brings naught but pride.
Bred in love, raised in care,
The cycle resets, all is fair.
If such were true to all man equal,
We'd have no wars, they'd get no sequel.
A perfect planet free from pain
would quite be pointless, dull, insane.
War, Greed, Strife, Pestilence, Disease,
All these terms, they must exist, for man to feel at ease.
If such cold concepts go unrepresented,
We'd all give up, nothing resented.
So how could we be happy if no opposite exists?
Could we feel pride, or love, or the desire to persist?
Or would we sink so low as to define that deadly list?
Another cycle to repeat, an obscuring foggy mist.
So how, you ask, did we find this tangent to explore?
Little of love could possibly be this planet's only cure.
But ah! There lies the riddle, of this can I be sure,
None yet know the answer, and rightly so, it is a bore.
I struggled with that last line, and I am unhappy with it at this point, but it does get whatever obscure point I was trying to make across.
I don't think I was really going for anything with this poem, it just sort of happened.


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