Walking

How often wisdom
Stays my hand,
Lays my tongue
Like heavy sand
Inside my waiting jaw.

While foolishness bubbles
Like a simmering pot
It roils and boils
Spilling what it’s got
Without discretion, without stop

How still I stay
And train my eye,
To look for truth, for integrity,
For the active lie
Inside the virtue.

But the manifold is diverse-
Subjective- all beholding-
And I’d rather be foolish and faithful,
Than wise and withholding.

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