A little learning, a dangerous thing!

there is a phrase that old men say,
which, to me, was always fey,
for how can knowledge be a dangerous thing,
and pray, what sorrow could it ever bring?

but oft, of late, a look at the heart,
and it's bleeding, as it's been stuck by a dart,
and you try, you try, not to give a fart,
"fuck you", comes the answer, ever so tart.

you keep yourself busy, to block the mind,
keep it occupied, you fear what it'll find,
but in a moment it comes, and it comes real bad,
and to be honest, it hurts, not just a tad.

for knowledge gained, is one never lost,
to not acknowledge it, one must be of frost.
but it's not for me, whatever the cost,
and sometimes I wish I'd done a Dr. Faust.

and then it strikes me, again those old men,
accompanied by the shriek of an irritating wren,
for while knowledge is power, ignorance is bliss,
and at long last, I finally understand this.

The deed is done, the act is past,
I seek to forget, and forget fast,
for time will forge surely, as will come to bear,
a set of blinkers, that I will choose to wear.

Never again will I question an old man's wisdom,
For their phrases are lore, in every kingdom,
to the future I look, and all seems bright,
then what is that in my eye, that's impeding my sight?

The rime of the traitor

‘Tis time, my friends to tell you a tale,

A time of struggle and sorrow, I would recount,

Where the spirit of man is seen to fail,

All in all, I hope, a moving account.

Of the players, or the scene, I dare not tell,

In my heart I must keep this secret so fell,

For they, I am sure, must have been through hell,

And their trust, mon ami, is not something to sell.

“The night was dark, the shadows long,

The moon, as in so many a famous song,

The harbinger of doom, the ringing bell,

A message, that made my heart quell,

O, god? What sin is this, what wrong?

I ramble and I rave, I beg and I plead,

Such words, that you and I wouldn’t read,

But, there it was, this terrible deed,

Who, then, would ever take heed?

In a time of strife, while we defend the keep,

And the twisted knife of treachery plays its ugly hand,

You look around, and who do you find?

A leap of faith, nay, just a leap

And then, in raging fire do you stand,

The images of the dead one, playing on your mind.

And then it starts the struggle so real,

Adds bitterness to every sweet meal,

You shrug it off and then sleep, or rather, try,

But, sadly, all that you can do is helplessly cry.

For what’s done is done, the dead are gone,

All’s that left is solitude, and the dreams of the sin,

And slowly, in its place, hatred will spawn,

And repulsion, so dark, it crawls up your skin.

The sorrow is real, and the sin is too,

But both will, stay, whom will you swear allegiance to?

At the end of the day, when the die was cast,

Did you think that it would be over so fast?

A slip of the tongue, an unthoughtful act,

And you, my friend have broken an immortal pact,

Trust ‘twas that built the halls of this earth,

Who then were you, to cause such grievous hurt?

Life goes on, in it’s merry way,

With it, your will cannot hold sway,

For it is the sum of all parts, the universe a hole,

What does it care about you, you mole?

The spine is bent, the spirit is gone,

The war that was fought with pride is no more,

Where is the meaning in life now, mon?

I’m afraid, even time will not heal this wound, so sore.

Is there a way, I ask, to turn back time?

Or is this dreadful past to be forever mine?

Forgive me O lord, for I have sinned

I humbly pray that this deed have no kin.

Of all the people, in all the worlds,

This curse that you so honorably bore,

would it be that your suffering is stopped,

forchance, I may be allowed to carry the load.

But O fool, this burden is not mine alone,

Along with me, you also will atone,

You think you are free, but you fool yourself dear,

Remember, O remember, what happened to king lear.

I wish I could, I wish I might,

Blaspheme you with all of my spite,

But somehow, sadly it doesn’t feel right,

For when both repent, where is the fight?”

But hope no more, of turning back time,

It will not happen, at least in the course of this rhyme,

You will kill the seed, You will halt the flow,

Of those creative juices that created this prose.

And thus my friend this tale must end,

I’m sure with more questions; and bridges to mend,

It must be me, to get on with life,

And that, of which this world is rife,

I hope that then, my spirit will not quail,

And I will not crush another so frail,

But of the subject, I must say, all Hail!

For a truly magnanimous one it is that graced this tale.