The Sophist

2016-02-22 12:00 am

The Sophist speaks of years forlorn.
Breathing in the ears of corn.
"What mercy does a savage make?
What pity do the foolish take?
They take one step,
and nothing more."

The Sophist speaks of emeralds.
So green and dope for sure.
So dope!
So dope, Oh,
And Green!
For sure...

Found but lost before,
Lost for all eternity,
Now He's found for sure.
The Sophist still confused by waves,
Playing seashells on the shore.
Scarcely eats,
Softly prays,
The Sophist sings in uniform.