CXLIV: On ends, on means, on what it means to be

The ends, you say? They justify these means?

And who shall reap the ends that you foretell?

Perhaps your children? Shall they break the beams

that bulwarked all that pain that we befell?

Or shall they not continue as you say,

promoting just as many means as these,

in hopes of some yet unseen promised day

that will, these horrors, humor and appease?

Or is it that you wanted to forget

that means are all you have to call your own?

You only can engender and beget

the works that you have sought, and sourced, and sown.

No ends exist, my dear old fellowman.

We merely do what good with what we can.