The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
…………………………………….
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
W.B. Yeats, The Second Coming (1921)
Yeats was right; that shapeless, slouching beast,
Its toxic breath infecting all the Earth—
Perilous mutation—nullifying
Sense and arch philosophy,
Asphyxiates humanity.
Mythic gods grin,
While we,
Their idiotic pawns,
Weep.
(11/17/11)