Have you heard about dead great men
And their quest for a way?
To them, in times of mirth,
I too find something to say.
With the rest, it’s why, O why. Or,
A train of how, how to live.
Trading bread and pride, lost,
Nameless with nought to give.
That’s not the truth, maybe.
Most likely a passing fancy;
If you ask what, how or why,
A half-wit’s smile’s a clever lie.
There’s a purpose, I suppose,
For faith to walk on hot coal,
There’s a whisper “nothing there”.
I laugh. My feet feels plenty there.
Friday, July 17, 2009
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