Poetry

 
A part of me wants to think.
 
Abandon society.
Its erroneous politics
erratic habits
violent passions.
So inexplicably enthralled in fashions.
 
I would move to Athens.
Live honestly
Socratically.
I imagine me.
Out of man’s harm
Into mother nature’s arms
Happily.
 
What else do I need to live.
Besides Life Soul and Thought.
Save your criticism. For I only hear the winds talk.
And they whisper with such a soft elegance.
Reminding me to look at the trees, who then remind me of the
birds
 whose beautiful songs
in return wake the flowers
who still, after  millenniums
, have yet to acknowledge their power.
How humble.
The descendants of  The
Garden of Eden.
Tiny miracles.
Proves again and again that His craftsmanship is flawless.
But as lively as summer may be. Comes grim reaping August.
 
I cannot stop the seasons from changing.
I cannot stop us from tainting.
For that must require immense concentration.
Not that I am overly vain or lacking patience .
 
You see, most of me wants to think.
But it is the wisest who must drink.