Rock Accountant

About wisdom. 

I care little.

Is it ever more than drifting

words of easy cleverness

that coax polished behaviors

 that barely last a morning.

The priests offer certainty 

in return for death.

If this is wisdom, 

what then is foolishness?

Birth?

When is wisdom ever a tool?

A utensil for eating life?

I have spent my life

like a child

chasing Easter eggs 

hidden behind bushes.

Thrilling at truths

painted in watercolors

that quickly washed away.

Then I found it 

in the last place,

I looked.