Sic Transit Gloria Mundi

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Gloria never rides the bus on a Monday;

the very thought of it makes her ill.

But she won't ride the bus only on that one day;

on any other day of the week she will.

Such little quirks ideosyncratic

comprise the spices that give a society its flavor,

but if human behavior becomes too erratic,

the spices become a poison none can savor.

A civilization only lives in its people's minds;

it spans the gap between what people know and what they feel.

And if one looks closely in inevitably finds

that the buildings and machines merely echo a dream made real.

But echoes fade if the music is not sustained

and dissonance grows in a myriad of little ways.

Unless the shared dream is actively maintained

even the mightiest civilization slowly decays.

Thus entropy crumbles the castle walls

and rends to tatters the flags unfurled.

Thus every civilization falls.

Thus passeth the glory of the world.


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