How comfortable if, from a position of power, we think, although comfort is the most dangerous thing—it confuses value with power, vision with illusion, (confessions don't help) and that is how a mistake is born. We know much about people and wars—or we think we do; and despite all these words we know, something terrible always happens to remind us of our blindness.
It is not a matter of knowledge, it is not a matter of power, but rather a powerful eye blind before the obvious, offering an illusion that even unrecognized pretense can be sold as recognized solution; and, as with the dying pretense, only what is real survives: pretense cannot sustain blind power; courage is more important than to be deceived by shallow victory waiting for a delayed defeat.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Topic(s) of this poem: blindness,courage,reality