Words of wisdom wilt with the wonder of wanting and wandering with soft illusion.
Wise men whither and whine about what once was what will be,
Wait - can you hear me?
Are you listening?
The trees are glistening with dew and sorrow.
Historical collective, but more an energy.
Why want when you can
wander with the whipping
wind west like a dove in dirty
Warriors of wonderful sound
win out over waning intentions
and waxing confusions
Desire is weak and unfulfilling
To want is not to be
Sans teeth, Sans eyes, Sans soul,
All the world's a stage,
and all the men and women merely players.
But what's it really matter, anyway?
The crickets will continue to chirp,
and cockroaches never die.