Hurt…


My pen bleeds ink,
My mind strains to think.
The whole world stops around me,
I sit as still as a tree,
Trying to remember why I feel the way I do.
Discerning my mind, trying to find out what is true.
I see through the world has a sheet of glass,
I see it as in times far past.
Knowledge is a double edged sword.
Wisdom is an oppressive lord.
The things in which I know,
Trouble my soul and brings it low.
In a way, ignorance is bliss,
In a way, it’s a soothing kiss.
To not know things so vexing,
Nor to understand schemes so perplexing.
What is knowledge anyways.
To understand temporal ways.
What is wisdom to be known?
To learn of things shown.
Is not even the breath of my lungs,
As a piece of music that is sung,
Which fades away forever more,
And in the earth is eternally stored.
At least joy is comfort on my way to the grave,
To renew my soul from being sorrow’s slave.
Why is joy so hard to find?
It boast itself of its sublime.
Good men do sink through the ground,
While the wicked are safe and sound.
We cry for judges just,
Rulers not pacified by bribes and lusts.
Yet the righteous are tread down as dung,
Their enemies have gloried and sung,
On how easy it was to do,
But shall they ever rue,
Oh the works of their putrid hands,
Of how they’ve removed the widow from her land.
Oh God hear my plea,
Oh God, deliver me...

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