The widsom that I seek seems out of reach.
The sun sets on the standing stones.
The clouds, the moon, the stars still move in track.
The widsom that I seek seems out of reach,
And questioners and doubters, still catch flack
Especially from those who pose as questioners.
These hunt down searchers with great indignation:
Returning then to palaces of folly
In orgasms of self-congratulation
In thought and look and feeling
In action and in word
That’s overlooked, or sanctioned
To swallow the absurd
In reasons for our reasons
To hide what’s true or real
Acceptance of what’s evil
In truth to what we feel
I don’t do anything the way I should.
I don’t do anything the way I should;
I failed my class in simple fitting in.
But somehow, I feel happy anyway —
In spite of all the scrapes I’m getting in
And out of everyday, from being weird.
I don’t think my condition is that rare —
I don’t do anything the way I ought,
And what is more, I do not seem
Foolishness and hatred?
That’s what other people do –
For in the world of politics
There’s only “us” and “you” —
“You people” who don’t care, and want
All good things to destroy —
To hate from safe within a crowd:
That brings some people joy
But if you don’t see crowds, but see
Each person as they go:
The words seem empty and belied
By every truth we know
For foolishness and hatred, both
Are very human traits:
Beware those who encourage them,
And leave them to their fates
For life is hard when squarely faced,
And good we manage, barely —
For it is all that we can do
To treat each other