The chaos of human; The whimsy of living

Human Abstract
~ William Blake.

Pity would be no more,
If we did not make somebody Poor
And Mercy no more could be,
If all were as happy as we;

And mutual fear brings peace,
Till the selfish loves increase;
Then Cruelty knits a snare,
And spreads his baits with care.
He sits down with holy fears,
And waters the ground with tears;
Then Humility takes its root
Underneath his foot.

Soon spreads the dismal shade
Of mystery over his head;
And the Caterpillar and Fly
Feed on the Mystery.

And it bears the fruit of Deceit,
Ruddy and sweet to eat;
And the Raven his nest has mad

In its thickest shade.

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What more can be chaotic than life? More whimiscal than living?

Next topic: an absurd world