The Conqueror's Flaw -- Philosophy's Main Villain (Poem)
Updated: Feb 18
All conquest begins with a goal.
That is the meaning/essence of conquering.
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:
Diogenes laughed and told to his dog:
Each achievement, while noble and/or helpful,
Won't necessarily make one's heart successful:
To smile in red,
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,
Not enough for serenity,
Not enough for true satisfaction.
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. To remain here.
As I felt no belonging,
To no group or nation.
Tempting, while foolish,
To ponder of what is after,
Hundreds of articles conquered,
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 unmask, as the lifelong task.
The "fuller life" of hedonism is too vain,
For this Rubinshtein.
Addicting and uncertain like gambling.
It only reminds me of my cosmic loneliness.
I prefer, instead, to plan ahead,
I will use my irrational aspects,
To build an empire of rationality.
So you'll all read high quality material,
Such as this.
I accepted my fate,
For at the height of conquest,
It is too late.
I will never not be satisfied,
Even when at my best.
Even if you'll say my name.
I won't be happy.
My overcharged mind will not be at rest,
It's how my goals I conquer,
How I'm to last.
Life is a story of how one came to defeat,
Whether you think from the head,
Or from the feet.
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,
To the grave.
I choose to become a slave,
To what I crave.
But death is something one can't absolutely mastermind.
Conquer your ambitions,
Or whine while lagging behind.
That is the Conqueror's flaw,
And that is why we're all, to it, bow.
You can't do anything else
To fully prevent you-know-how,
So just do something -- on distraction's behalf.
Kill time, if you wish to escape,
An absurdity that searches for you,
And make it ask you: Why you're alive, too?
Only for questions require much coffee.
Frustration is the game,
Life is its name.
Admit the truth,
Even if it's underneath your boot.
Gain some loot,
With or without a suit.
Inherit it to a person like food.
You will die,
At least die good.
