The scholar with gnosis is freed
It is through will his mind acquires speed
for sight, he may see past the void of foresight
The first to know his candle will die in the breeze of night

The gardener knows he owes none to no one
His work satiates the desires some shun
He huddles about his fire, his thoughts given form by wires of dexterity
As he tries to break the wind, it breaks him in twain
His fire extinguished, his work in vain

The hunter makes his bravoure known through pride
He thinks to endure the cold, confidant his stride
But he knows not the trail he treads
He trips, his eyes agaze on the blaze on the forest floor as his lantern shattered
Immobile, his last thoughts are of vile dread

The trapper set on on protecting
the village and not neglecting
his kin lost in the woods
taken by the beasts after they furled up their hoods
He has forgotten now
That the things he traps are those like him, seeking resolution after loss of life and limb

The mother sees all that fails
Her weathered roots not moot to the chill that bent the rills and enclosed the hearth
For she sleeps, and the world is in dearth of life.

her deeds are not known
people here only care about their own
None can call usurpant
Of the one who brings
To the attention of the forest dwellers’ homes
The serpents
The librarians
Who elevate the barbarians
To beyond antiquarian
We keep in tomes
the dearth of life

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License