Incurable idealists
That's us and proud of it,
inveterate as workoholics,
poor in everything except imagination,
hopelessly unpractical but wise
with spiritual insight
and never to be fooled
by a society of phoney carpetbaggers,
experts most of all at wasting other people's money,
so we are perhaps more fortunate without
and always having something good to live for.
Although we are just a happy few,
we couldn't be in better company,
and most and best of all:
unlike all slaves of this society of bleak delusions,
with idealism as some incurable disease,
we never are alone.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2008-10-21 at 10:20
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