Encircling, envisioning, entailing eccentricities,
the mind of a liberal believes it believes:
constantly “open-minded” in contradictory phrases,
their purpose short-lived in meaningless phases.
With so many worries, yet set without moral,
nothing is purposed — just seemingly whirled,
like thoughts without presage, or action unneeded;
so liberal ideals are so simply seated.
With lack of true want, yet breeding desire,
for some reason it spreads like a wildfire.
Where’s the support, except for insanity?
Could it be rooted in personal vanity —
maybe a brand of thinking that’s so insecure
that pure logic is hidden, and thoughts are unsure?