Wisdom flies off into the wind, beyond our reach and understanding,
unheard is the epigram that we learn more from our mistakes
than any success could teach us.
And I have far too many to count,
so often wallowing in deep embarrassment
the human condition.
Here I sit
with my Norwegian pencil
erasers at both ends,
that cannot wipe away
wrongs done to others
failure to take good advice
jumping in with both feet enthusiastically at bad,
trusting myself alone.
In the life fully lived,
we move away from
putting our hands on a hot stove,
remembering to look both ways before crossing
every sort of street,
forced to choose so many forks in the road,
to wait patiently for each outcome
to ultimately teach us wisdom
instead of folly so common
as our hairs turn gray
and our bodies writhe in decay.
The young may hear our truth
wisdom born of stern experience,
yet it is their destiny not to hear
in a mad rush forward
sure they already know all,
experiencing the head against the brick wall
the stern rebuke,
inheriting so much
sadness, dismay, regret.
The great compensation
of age and understanding of the way of things,
accrued, amassed as if a great fortune
unfathomable to so many
wisdom in its pure state,
and I the wisest of them all.