Oh Man Of Fools

Brooding thoughts well within,
in transference of continuums
laced sweet of sin.
 Man fools not one, but himself
as he in his piety flourishes
amongst where darkness dwells.
Cheap are his thoughts
which cripple his mind
tawdry his solicitations
mingled of blood wine.
Mighty only in presumption of self

lacking empathy where heart once felt.

Oh man of fools, oh man of simple mind,

waste not this your day, nor mine.

For your hours now collapse beneath a burning bed,

and the toil of your years leave naught to be said.

Oh, man of fools tell me now how can it be?

That you actually thought of yourself so mighty.

For as I stand and as I speak,

I have borne hopes witness to the nothingness of it all

just one inch below the summit of eternities peak.

J. Allen Wilson © Five 2006