Contemplating Socrates
I felt I had not learned, and knew nothing
Of the analysis of a flower
The more I read the darker became my cave
When the boulder of your name
Was rolled like Sisyphusian task upon me
What did he not know
Who said so many things before Christ came
I set out like a river
Tumbling down an impolite hillside
Looking under the dress of stones
And caressing the dirty feet of bridges
Some who sped ahead of me
Came back bruised and salted by the sea
Yet I was determined
Because of your Alexandrian beginning
To let you know
How unwell I fit with crowds
Making status statements
With nuances of the dead classic
And all in vain
All in vain
It was not the donut that he liked
It was the hole
The empty center we pay for
With dead days
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2010
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