THE WISE AND OLD

Fri, 09/26/2014 - 17:03 -- ANARKA

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My Eyes Are The Seers Of  Treasure,
Among The Limbs When I Dream Of Leasure,
The Brain Is Wealth,
As A Thieve Is To Stealth,
The Future Is For The Dreamers,
For As Far As I Recall, I’m Among The Schemers,
And The Brain Is Indeed Gold,
Only In The Minds Of The Wise And Old.
 
Beautiful Things Seem To Never Last,
As They Always Opt To Stay In The Past
Sometimes I Smile, Sometimes I Whine,
As If I Have A Needle Penetrating My Spine,
I Had Never Came Across Luck,
Midst The Uncomfortable, And Nuisance I’m Stuck,
However I Never Knew That My Mind Was Gold,
For I Believed, Brains Are Only For The Wise And Old.
 
I’m The Cold And The Belligerent,
Opposite The Bold And Intelligent,
I am A Sad Song That Was Never Sung,
Still Stuck On The Singer’s Numb Tongue-
Should I Blame Stupidity, Rushing Through The Pain,
Clueless As I am- Here I Remain,
For I Have Assumed Patience Is Gold,
Only In The Mind Of The Wise And Old.
 
My Heart Is Feeble, And My Strength Have Drained
And Whenever My Thoughts Dried- I Wished It’d Rained-
Where’s The Light, I Wonder, Feeling Like A Powerless Torch,
While Everyone Stares At Me Like A Raven On Their Front Porch,
Therefore My Visions Turns Microscopic, Filling Me With Wrath,
As If Ninety Nine Black Cats Crossed My Path-
Yet Deep Down Inside Me My Thoughts Are Gold,
Leaving Me With The Feeling Of The Wise And Old.
 

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