The Death of All Wisdom

i remember wise men
it sat alone with old facially-overgrown men
in cafes and on street corners
in cold, dark houses surrounded by books
and no mirrors

you see the footprint of time on their faces
you see the memories branded into their bones
and the sounds they make are few and far between
they'll grunt or they'll speak up on matters of grave importance

but every wise man i've ever known has died
not necessarily in a literal sense
but in the sense that all wise men
hold onto a loose sense of wisdom
that fades with shits, and bills to pay, erectile dysfunction

they get lonely, needy and desperate for affection
they have abandoned friends, wives and children
they succumb to the same lusts of comfort that we all do
they think shallow thoughts in the darkness

but me
i sit on the corner of my bed most nights
wondering what wisdom is like
what it feels like to lose, love and ache
i wonder what happens when the lens of innocence fades

but then i turn and look into the mirror
and i see the reflection of empty bookshelves
dirty clothes strewn all across the floor
i see the evidence of foolishness that is found
deep in the heart of everyman.

i close my eyes and sigh
an exhale of sweet relief
that there was one wise man
and none of us are Him.