The world is divided, yet whole,
The glass can be both half-empty, and half-full,
Yet we have no paradox,
A statement is true, yet false, like the shifty fox
That preys on the nature of us all,
He’s the one that trips us and watches us fall,
Yet with everything
Every little tinkle, cling, and ring,
He secretly, behind closed doors, hopes that one day,
We’ll wake up, shake ourselves of this daze
And find that thing to praise in our life,
Something we will always acknowledge during the strife,
And the blithe.

So each to his own,
Let him exclaim and shout at those,
Whom are the source of this prose.

I guess we do have a paradox, like the fox
We are divided, yet united
We are full, yet empty
We are the masters of our own fate, yet we live by the choices and chiming of others,
So brothers,
Are you the Fox?
Or his feast?