Wisdom

A dream
takes by surprise
an unsuspecting victim--
specific events elusive
while emptiness remains.

And pain sits on her golden throne
probing, scratching, tearing
but, cleverly, never reveals the source
of her great power.

Poets and dreamers sit idly,
rarely create but for themselves--
but what of their understanding of the heart
and their easy access to beauty?
Must we always shun
ones who know less?
For ignorance is bliss
and only the content may be wise.

The stars swirl around us--
lose us in their frivolous importance,
and without the night sky,
on what foundations
could we build our dreams?