The Conqueror's Flaw -- Philosophy's Main Villain (Poem)
Updated: Aug 28
All conquest begins with a goal.
Achieve it, and it will be yours.
That is the meaning/essence of conquering.
It is very hard to not be a conqueror.
Why settle for less, when you can strive for more?
And even so,
Once more is achieved,
The heart may still thirst,
As if none occurred.
Alexander the Great told Philosopher Diogenes:
"I will be satisfied when the world is mine."
Diogenes laughed and told to his dog:
"See how much he needs, just to smile?"
Each achievement, while noble and/or helpful,
Won't necessarily make one's heart successful:
To smile in red,
And think away from a buried head.
Even in a smiling day,
The night might still bring you to melancholy,
Because regardless of your conquests,
The heart, the mind, can still remain holey,
As if, none, was done;
As if you sat, and never did run.
Then, why do anything,
If anything is not enough?
Not enough for serenity,
Not enough for self-fulfilment.
Nothing assures anything,
Because the future is unclear,
Like a man after too much beer.
And yet, I strive, out of fear,
To not leave and remain here.
The other side, were my first contemplation,
As I felt no belonging,
To no group or nation.
Tempting, while foolish,
To ponder of what is after,
And yet I hate to cause grief,
To family, to Mother.
Hundreds of articles conquered,
And yet I remain mentally hungered.
Who could've known,
That the pursuit of existential justification,
Is a Sisyphus's task of its own?
I don't want to die,
But I do want to see it through,
That my life will end as best as it can,
For it is not something to experience,
But to ask, as a lifelong task.
As experience is too disappointing,
Addicting and uncertain like gambling.
What if, even at the height of conquest,
One will not be satisfied, at best?
Fly to whole worlds,
And yet one's mind will not be at rest,
As if one was still a chick in his nest??
When death is already guaranteed,
Life is a story of how one came to defeat.
We all have anvils waiting to smash us to the ground,
And although the time is mostly not known or found,
The deal of life is to receive the final pound.
How ironic, that one could be a master in life,
But death is something one can't fully mastermind.
That is the Conqueror's flaw,
And that is why we're all, to it, bow;
You can't do anything else,
So just do something -- on distraction's behalf.
Only absolution, only in void,
That covers which eternity avoids.
Kill time, and kill it good,
Or else absurdity will search for you.
There is no assurance for answers in philosophy,
Only for questions that one desires like coffee.
Frustration is the game,
Life is its name.
Admit the truth,
Even if it's underneath your boot.
