Some see in hollow earth a beaut’eous light,
They bury all their worth beneath the sands,
And yet when time, a monster, shows its might,
Their broken rhyme is lost to fleeting glance.
Where such see worth, the most do find despair,
They search the earth, for balm to quell their pain,
Their lives as well are lost, with joyous air,
Which tells the deathly cost of happy feign.
The last of broken man do hold his hope,
The wise unwanted man is ere the sage,
He searches not for happiness to cope,
Nor revels, caught by riches of the age.
Instead the wise will woo that maiden truth,
When purpose cries, comes glory to the sleuth.
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O'Neil)
Written December 19, 2006