Folly.

Folly.

by Jeremy LeWayne

Au contraire, do run.

Run from the abyss.

The Unknown that swallows souls,

that devours courage in hearts bold.

For man fails at every turn.

Equal in that respect you're made.

Mediocrity personified in a shell.

Destined for worms or bound to hell.

Through the fall we find clarity.

The tumble we discover truth.

Journey's end takes us back to the ash.

While our secret lives convolute.

Before morn our pillows transform to clay.

Our given names etched in stone.

Through try and fail we find demise.

The hidden door to the Maker's throne.

Author's Note

Sometimes I take myself way too seriously. whiskey usually fixes that problem.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

I like your overall message, even tho I'm not crazy about the sporadic attempts at Elizabethan construction, which can give a message a stilted sound to me (just personal preference). The best part of your poem is in originality . . . sometimes poets who write in this genre all seem to say the same thing in only slightly differing ways . . . but in your case, you have chosen refreshingly unique wording thru-out: "destined for worms or bound to hell" . . . "mediocrity personified in a shell" . . .