Only at the arrival of death will we receive wisdom.

Eating sweet lies under the starry night sky,

Minds intoxicated with strong drink and obsessions of the age.

Credulous to every word, vulnerable to the first blow.

Beauteous girls seduced by glamour wipe transpicuous tears from their eyes,

Greedy boys bent on conquering, blinded by glory, live to let dreams die in the bars of a perfidious cage.

Infatuated by nitid allure and flamboyant châteaus.

Only at the arrival of death will we receive wisdom.

The satisfaction of little grey hairs sprouting from the shrivelled mass of skin,

The colour in glassy pupils forfeiting memory and glimmer.

Like the inescapable snare as day fades into a still twilight; the departure of troubled waters.

The door left open, wisdom invites itself into the presence of a worn-down inn,

With all its subtle power and magnificence, does it entice the soul of an old-timer,

Yet reminds the host that the days are ending, leaving their destiny in the hands of the potter.

Only at the arrival of death will we receive wisdom.

-themeekarestillhere

Email: roxysarah56@gmail.com

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