Wondering About Wisdom
by Regis Boff
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.
