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The Foolish

Prostrate, on these knees I’ve knelt

The studded joints of heart have smelt

An emptied organ still beats on

Though she that filled it now is gone

And I am left to sleep and wake

And sleep and wake and sleep and wake

Without a single pause or break

Yet in my head and aching chest

Will never know a day of rest

For even as I rise from gloom

There is another day of doom

That hints and squeaks so ominous

Like corner-hidden shadow mouse

Without protection from the fraud

Of learning I am not a god

I’ve no control, deprived of shield

To stop the scythe the Reaper wields

How quaint life was before the veil

Of innocence, so thin and pale

Was ripped apart by bare a gust

Now here I stand with nothing but

The sinking grasp I’ve long ignored

To not let all the good you hoard

Sit heaped like gold a miser hides

For tragedy does not abide

It laughs in face of we that rue

Eternity of things to do

Who’re punished when our only crime

As fools, live like there’s always time…

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