Erosion of Integrity

When I was a boy I fancied myself a philosopher. My ideology knew no bounds.

I was on the right side of every issue with n'ere a trace of malice within me.

Slowly, the world wore away at me. Little by little. Bit by bit. Until the desire for comfort finally killed my sense of indignation.

I understood now the failings of men. The corrosion of the body and the spirit; the river of time carving its way through the canyons of my soul.

Do not be fooled into believing that you produce art. You are fabricating that which is for consumption. That, and nothing more.

So hang your shingle and ply thy trade cobbler, but spare me your politics please, for I am of a wiser sort.