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Everything that rises

I am not a doctor.
I don't cure people or save lives.

I am not an engineer.
I don't build anything useful.

I am not a scientist.
I don't discover anything that would benefit mankind.

I am not an artist.
I don't make paint, sculpt, or envision anything that could be  art.

I am not a carpenter.
I don't craft wood into furniture.

I am not a teacher.
I don't inspire others to seek knowledge or help them understand.

I am not a soldier.
I don't defend my country.

I am not a journalist.
I don't seek the truth or expose the evil in this world. But then, who does?

I am not a banker.
I don't take care of anyone's life savings.

I am not a policeman.
I don't keep my fellow citizen safe.

I am not a gardener.
I don't nurture a single seed into a tree.

I am not a chef.
I don't make anything that would satiate hunger.

I am not a driver.
I do not ferry people to their destinations.

I am not a writer.
I don't fashion letters into words and ideas that would move the world.

I am not an entertainer.
I don't distract people from the daily ennui of their lives.

I am not a sweeper.
I don't clean roads and sewers, making the city bearable.
 
I am not a prostitute.
I don't give temporary comfort to anybody.

What am I?

Some would say, a shyster.
Weaving false dreams, evoking unreal desires. Tricking people into buying things they don't want.

Others would name me a storyteller.
Making up fables of need and greed but with no morals. 

I am nothing of consequence.

So, why do I care enough to work hard at it?
Actually, why does anyone in my line of work actually give a shit?

Is it possible?
While we have been toiling away to delude others, have we in fact, deluded ourselves?

Song for the moment: Wearing the inside out - Pink Floyd 

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