Scratching My Head In Wonder

How about a story?

In a dream I saw the Earth quietly put out to pasture so as to hide it's pain, anguish and torment. As it is tucked away from prying eyes it's inhabitants endure a freedom not since the Golden Age of Man where all become subjects and subjected. Is it a plight of destiny as told and retold in glowing terms of deceptive rendering or is it but another layer of dress proudly proclaimed as being of necessity in order to survive this universe and the next?

And then I woke from my slumber and found that I had indeed lost the afternoon.

Sometimes, time must pass before it becomes of use. I wish that it were not so but most ordain the rite of passage so as to be properly authorized, with stamp and signature signifying approval for consumption. I hang my head in shame knowing that a true serf is considered worth ten times as much as one of less self-intent. Indeed, the worth of a Man is to be weighed and considered. Though I am not in a shopping mood and haven't been for quite some time I still relish the idea that something can be made out of nothing.

If it were not so then hope would have died on the examination table quite some time ago.

Riddle me this.

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