The Enlightened Ones

The only symptoms that we see
Are those expressly chosen for our eyes

The diagnosis we arrive at
Has been shaded and shaped
By clues deliberately dropped there for us
And even more by what hasn't been shown

So we recommend treatment
Not knowing

Anything, really

Not the nature of the disease
Nor its real symptoms

We have no hope of finding a cure

And we genuinely, fervently believe


That we are the enlightened ones

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure. View all posts by Beleaguered Servant