Optimism’s Abattoir

When fire becomes too hungry; when the dreamer’s eyes roll snake eyes; when evil cogs and faulty wiring transform Mother Teresa blessings into Torquemada stressings; when nouns no longer nurture and every person, place, thing, and idea we’ve ever cherished is stripped of its significance—this is when we revolt. This is when we refuse to become beasts of extinction. Things wither and die too soon when they never had a chance to be young at heart. Our optimism’s abattoir slaughters all savageries and sorrows, saves their bones for better wishes.

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