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The bitter draught, by Adriaen Brouwer
Robert L. Martin

Avenging Instinct

Deep inside a brittle spirit sleeps
In a warm body lulled to sleep by
Weeping angels and celestial choirs,
Heaven incarnated in tranquil lullabies,
Soft melodies finding harmonic homes,
Proud violets swaying in the midday air,
Peace spreading its wings in the soul,
Contentment breeding contentment,
Air upon air, peace upon peace,
Waters swimming into waters,
Sleepy waves fading into the twilight,
Private nights sealed within the soul,
Private peace reaching all the crevasses,
All is calm, all is quiet, m-m-m so peaceful.
 
For every invasion there is a resentment.
For every action there is a reaction.
For every attack, a counter attack,
For every offense, and inborn defense,
For every pain, an instinctive remedy,
For every hateful deed, a hateful response,
As nature continues on its natural course
With its ears turned away from forgiveness,
Its alienation from all reason,
Its passion riding with the thunder,
Its wildness still being wild,
Its heart that goes to battle,
Its veins that transport avenging blood,
Its emptying into dangerous places,
Its courage that knows no pain,
Its fighting until it breathes no more,
Its resting with the pleasure of revenge,
As it settles in and becomes our true self;
That self that knows the words of reason
But is deaf to what it says, and
Lets the revengeful spirit
Come into our hearts.

I know forgiveness is a virtue, but it hard deep inside to accept it.

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