The Wise Man

Such fair dread did come my way,
On the eve of that other day,
When all lost and losing found their steps,
Hands tied; holding wrathful grapes,
And came to me with a rhyming plea,
Hollow like the warm depths of sea.

I said to them as I say to you,
‘ I hold no land held by secrets new,
All I have and all I dare,
Is to be simply still and do not care,
For I have come to an untenable pass,
A foe I desire to not surpass,
To which I cannot hold a light,
Against which my piety says nay to fight,
As I no longer need reasons to fail;
None is needed, thus all is well.’

They too as you, then turned their back,
As you they too, do something lack,
The truth about that ever happening might,
Which burns the day, which blinds the night.

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

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