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The moon casts its silver vault over the ruins of modernity,
Where the souls of conservatives and progressives meet in an endless dance,
Of mistakes and traditions, I find myself carried on the wings of a stream of consciousness,
Contemplating the contradictions that define our ephemeral existence.
The progressive, with his heart of fire, steps forward, without looking back,
Embracing error as an old friend, inventing new paths,
Delving into unexplored abysses, in his eyes each mistake
Is a step towards a bright future, a candle burning in the night of ignorance.
Yet, in his frantic flight, he does not see the ruins left behind,
He does not feel the pain of those who fall in the shadow of his steps.
The conservative, with his heart of stone, stands guard at the gates of the past,
Fiercely defending what once was, in the pale moonlight.
The ruins become sanctuaries, and the mistakes of yore
Are transformed into sacred legends, he looks with reverence
At the remains of a bygone era, seeing in them an eternal beauty,
Untouched by the passage of time, in his eyes any change is a threat.
Thus, a tragic dance is born, in which each new mistake
Of the progressive immediately becomes a relic venerated by the conservative,
It's a symphony of contradictions, a fragile balance
Between momentum and stagnation, between dream and reality.
In this play of shadows and light, each soul
Is trapped in a snare of its own consciousness,
Trying to find meaning in the chaos of the modern world.
And I, a mere observer of this melancholic spectacle,
Let myself be carried by the wave of thoughts, seeking answers
In the silence of the night, perhaps the truth is hidden somewhere
Between the ruins of the past and the promises of the future,
In the heart of each mistake and in the beauty of each tradition.
Perhaps balance is nothing but a dream, an illusion
That disintegrates under the cold light of the moon,
In this divided world, we remain prisoners
Of our own beliefs, navigating among ruins and hopes.
Seeking meaning in the endless flow of consciousness,
And, in the end, perhaps our only solace
Is to admire the ruins under the moonlight,
To find beauty in imperfections and to learn to live with the contradictions that define us.
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