First Encounter with Postmodern Deconstructionism

It was a foggy autumn day(‘Twas partly my fault, I confessFor I was half-asleep and ill,A campus zombie born from stress)I wandered into stranger hallsAnd staggered, sat and thoughtOf truth and beauty, right and wrong(as any tired student ought).And then they came in jabbering(I caught Latin, French, some Russian)Sat themselves in front of meAnd got down to discussingThe subjects that were on my mind.I didn’t know what to feelBecause the gist of all their gab –Was that none of it was real. No right, no wrong, no right nor leftOr love or virtue eitherUp was down and down was upAnd black and blue were neither.Well, in a way they had a point;It’s a twisty world we live inThe real truth can be hard to findAnd nothing is a givenBut this world does not run on words-For, despite all wise debateBirds don’t ever theorizeOn the meaning of “migrate”.It helps, sometimes, to step outsideAnd see the street anewFor things exist, and not just terms,And I think some things are true.There’s more out there than human words,As we to life adjust -For life exists, despite all odds,Without input from us.Well, that was what I tried to sayBut I suppose it was conjectureFor I raised my voice a hair too loudAnd was chucked out of that lecture. -Anon.