The Sun Sets on the Standing Stones

No Talent For Certainty

The sun sets on the standing stones.
The clouds, the moon, the stars still move in track.
The widsom that I seek seems out of reach,
And questioners and doubters, still catch flack

Especially from those who pose as questioners.
These hunt down searchers with great indignation:
Returning then to palaces of folly
In orgasms of self-congratulation

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