“The Cynic and the Fool”

i.

Silver dawn languishes, in a blanket of mist

upon the waking world.

The sun reaches, in golden array,

like a heavenly Midas, stretching her jeweled fingers

across the Earth’s celestial brow,

bewitching the leaves to gold, this charmèd cloth

studded with dewy diamonds.

--

Tumbling across an onyx path,

the glorious, earthly morn

stretches itself, released from nighttime slumber,

before my sleep-worn eyes.

I occupy my weathered seat, as the bus

guides itself upon the lonely road.

Warm cup of coffee in hand, I drink and linger

amongst my comfortable thoughts.

My companions and I recline, motionless and quiet.

I enjoy my solitude.

-

ii.

We are conducted to the crowded halls,

where Athene’s gift may be unearthed.

In volumes, thick with dust and time,

knowledge of the stars, the Earth, humanity

is ciphered into inky prose;

those who wish to seek shall find

the secrets of the universe.

--

Sing to me

of the philosopher’s search for eternity.

The sensual rhythm of the language and soul;

humanity’s yearnings, given tangibility by scribes,

entwines easily with the records of man’s ascent.

We observe the patterns of existence

and assign a number to Fate.

I trace the lines of another nation, extending

my thoughts to a foreign song, as I glimpse

the soul inside a people.

-

iii.

She hung Monet on her eyes,

and plastered an eternal smile on her visage,

so I pitied her weakness.

-

iv.

Satisfied exhaustion makes heavy my limbs,

as I curl myself upon the lounge,

an herbal remedy smoldering softly in my

flower-patterned mug.

Lazily handling the television remote,

I casually switch it on,

and watch through half-lidded eyes.

Luminous children beam

up at me, smiling like a hymn of truth,

for they finally have a place;

Athene hath wrought her blessing upon them.

Freedom is worthless,

in the absence of knowledge. The sun hath

pierced the sullied clouds

and rung a new dawn, across the seas of winds and sands.

A smile flickers across

my face, before I surrender to the calling dreams.

There is hope for the world.

-

v.

The grey morning is suspended heavily over

my heart, crushing the Earth

with its foggy weight.

The sun attempts to pierce the gloom,

with sharp and shining blades,

but it is an exercise in futility-

a familiar occurrence.

--

I am dragged across this man-forged road,

as the early morning clouds my mind.

I gulp down coffee; swallowing rebellious thoughts-

“Another addiction equals more consumption.”

On the bus,

one would say I am not alone- a lie.

No one speaks; no one cares.

(Silence is our solace from truth.)

-

vi.

I am dragged to the pits of humanity-

the hellish corridors of school, where we are

bunched together, suffocated, and stripped

of individuality. Tie me down; feed me lies.

It’s a daily exercise, and learning is a thin disguise.

--

Read to me

of the philosopher’s folly; the elemental misconception.

The deep, weeping rhythm of the language and soul;

humanity’s yearnings, sifted by scribes,

clash wrenchingly with the records of man’s descent.

We pretend that numbers predict the patterns of destiny,

like we pretend that language is our only barrier.

-

vii.

Then there is She who surrenders her identity

with indifference. Go on,

paint lies across your face. Why not take a Xerox

of Britney and tie it on,

if you need a mask? Your scorn is entirely

laughable, because I know you-

and as long as you deny your own soul,

you won’t.

-

viii.

Home is a word with a bare connotation-

an empty room

(with a television,) so I turn it on:

my worst habit,

like an overdose without getting high,

but I shoot up.

Sickening praise for a clump of lies-

another schoolhouse opens in Iraq.

“Go on, let them suffer if you want!”

-a rueful laugh (from me)

I loathe the media, despise the system, would assassinate the president

(if I could-- down with the man!) But, mostly,

I hate what I have become:

The Cynic (and the Fool).

--end--

Thank you very much for reading my poem... of course, to make your kind deed complete, you must leave me a review! I encourage you to give me as much criticism as you can. I've been writing poetry for less then a year, and advice is most desired. If you happened to like this poem, I reccomend that you check out some of my other poems on this site. Again, thank you!

Toodles!