The art of life [whether art or not]

Knowing how to be without giving up on your

self.  Knowing how to see without failing to see

the others about and around,

as they would be seen by the others which for them 

you become.

Knowing how to say sorry when sorrow is true and 

it is right to right the wrong[s] you 

have committed.  Knowing when enough

is quite enough: knowing when the links connect or,

alternatively, when they form a chain of

[ev’ry

day] rains: the rains you get in

Hemingway which dress up life in anyway but

should.

And knowing when finally the wrongs you have

committed, like duty’s obligation alongside the

deliciousness of write, 

can be forgiven as a whole, if forgiveness is

the blanco* of our aims:

shared and summarised and D-ocumented 

wise.  Knowing, just knowing, that love conquers

[t]all.

If [t]all we all choose to C.

* The word “blanco” in castellano can mean “white” or “target”.  For the line in question, “white” rhymes best.  For the meaning in question, the write word is “target”.  Life’s like that sometimes.  It just is …

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