Fist of the Fool

I've dreamt of the solutions

To the nagging present, the nagging past

Sagging skin, short of breath

Falling fast and moving slowly

I haven't wept but thoughts considered

Admittance to a tear or two

Because of shame and all included

It was a chore to pass the mirrors

So inspired, so I fought

Against these stupid ways of me

The slow encumbrance, the vapid thing

That was always greeting me once more

Now I choose to stand and throw

A clumsy fist that bends and faults

I buckle down and find the will

To see myself as something

I take a punch, my nose may bleed

My face will feel the agony

Still I shuffle and follow through

And soon I'll be struck again

So now it is a puzzled thought

Have a hand in your reprise

To be beaten or not to be

'Tis the question blind

The fool can't block or swing with might

Such a fool can hardly stand

Fools as this are just so quiet

Fools as this are just a bore

Yet this fool may keep on trying

To learn to guard or become like rock

And before the next shall come a calling

Perhaps he'll be a fool no more.

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