The Written Word

Such wicked fools, What angry, half-crazed things they are Such despair sticking to them Around them and through them Difficult to be certain about How they have fared for so long. Such violent buffoons, What dramatic, forgetful things they are Such regret spilling toward them Behind them and before them Problematic to imagine How their mistakes continue on. Such loving simpletons, What brave, tender souls they are Such passion within them To end and begin them Hard to know The depths of their love. Such magnificent dolts, What imaginative, dreamy-eyed things they are Such creations flow from them And I, one among them Impossible to understand All that is contained in every one.