Plus ça change, . . .

                                             THE SECOND COMING
 

                             Turning and turning in the widening gyre
                             The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
                             Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
                             Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
                             The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
                             The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
                             The best lack all conviction, while the worst
                             Are full of passionate intensity.
                             Surely some revelation is at hand;
 

                             Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
                            The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
                            When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
                            Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
                            A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
                            A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
                            Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
                            Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
 

                            The darkness drops again but now I know
                            That twenty centuries of stony sleep
                            Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
                            And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
                            Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

                                 - William Butler Yeats, 1919


                        Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.. .

                        The rich are still with us, as are the poor,

                        and the rest of us are just getting trickled on.

                                         - Rich Latimer , 2014


 

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