It was 1962, Wichita, Kansas. My Dad surveyed the front yard—a very big front yard, a grim look on his face. "Weeds," he pronounced sullenly, as if our front yard had become the equivalent of a ... [+]
Discordia, goddess of.
I pray to thee humbly.
I ask thee to sow thy seeds of unrest.
Lest we forget.
Peace—be her deceit of harmony, a semblance of good.
Lest we forget.
In the absence of contention breeds contentment.
In the absence of conflict, naivety.
Misplaced trust, in the goodness of people,
bespeaks the human fallacy in itself.
I beg thee to heed this prayer.
Amen.
I pray to thee humbly.
I ask thee to sow thy seeds of unrest.
Lest we forget.
Peace—be her deceit of harmony, a semblance of good.
Lest we forget.
In the absence of contention breeds contentment.
In the absence of conflict, naivety.
Misplaced trust, in the goodness of people,
bespeaks the human fallacy in itself.
I beg thee to heed this prayer.
Amen.