knowledge and wisdom

where do we—I—belong,
tears flow through the song—
but no one can see, not she,
not the brothers, unsung,
not the men who live life,
night and day we pray,
with every breath, believing—
then mad, so mad, loud—uncouth,
or enraged and in a cage—youth,
the good excuse, but then time,
with each and every line,
strays, and lays on me this truth:
words, pure, fruit so with every season,
so dry, my eyes, (yet) with good reason.

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