If I could cease the picking of my canvas scabs
with my paintbrush,
then I wouldn’t be an artist.
If I could stop scratching the itch of scrawl and script,
then I would not be a writer.
If my hunger for flesh
was ever satisfied,
then I would not be a lover.
And if I could snuff the fury
that burns acres of anger within me,
then I would not be a warrior.
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1 comment:
I remember that a philosophy teacher told to us that non controlled "passions are destructive"
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