Sophia

The spites of Fortune are boring slowly, painfully
Into my head the cavities of folly, many
Years of conceited thought and illusions, delusion
Of the magnanimous king, a person --
Spirited, witty, confident, yet silly, really
I spent too much time catching dewdrops, sorry
For the refusal of the rainfall of yesterday, unknowing
That God and His mysterious purpose lies
Outside the purpose of our ignorance.
There is too little in being great
And too much greatness in being low.
The curse of knowledge takes us to the middle
Of the unfathomable sea,
And we grope under the keel,
And are proud of what we feel,
Thinking that what we reach
Is an object lying in the black bottom.
I faced the mirror and asked
Myself if what I see before me
Is my real face, my reality,
Or just a ghost of my frustrations,
Of my illusion.
Hell, I broke the rhytm of the universe,
And imposed along these lines
Chaos and confusion;
Confusion that produced a nation.
Farther down the streets Sophia calls,
Dressed in her celebrated gown.
I stood, and before the evening goes
I removed my hat and immediately made way.
For her to stay,
For her to say,
DO NOT FALL INTO THE HELL THEY MADE!

Copyright 2009 Vin#