Too many, a merry, a man.

By Moneer Elmasseek

Too many a merry a man

see not the palm beneath the puppet.

They dwell in the ecstasy of the moment,

of the the sweet fiction of their existence.


 

They are blind,

more than the winged beasts of the dark and damp.

They are dumb to fact,

They speak more about a castle's strength than the blood that stains it's bricks.


 

They are as oblivious,

as a man who merely walks from the swelling dragon on Pompeii's last day.


 

Beckon them not.

Call them not.


 

Their heads and their hearts,

are forever turned from truth.


 

Be still and paint a canvas of reality for none but yourself.


 

Unless their hearts desire it, they will never gaze onto your world.

So sigh and sigh.

Time,

as always, will tell.