Superstition,
a shadow in the night,
Born
of ignorance and fear's dark might,
Thrives
where reason sleeps, its power to ignite,
A
flame that flickers bright, but casts no light.
In
the depths of darkness, it takes hold fast,
Fed
by our doubts and anxieties so vast,
It
spreads like wildfire, consuming all in sight,
Leaving
us lost in a sea of endless fight.
But
oh, how it masquerades as truth,
With
whispers sweet, and lies so ruthless,
It
twists our minds, and makes us doubt our youth,
Until
we're trapped in a prison of untruth.
Yet,
let us not forget, there is a cure,
For
this disease that plagues our every feature,
Reason,
the antidote, the only sure,
To
vanquish superstition, forever pure.
So
let us seek the light, and banish fear,
And
in the sunshine of knowledge, appear,
The
shackles of superstition, broken and clear,
And
we shall emerge, free from its grasp, my dear.
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