Fools

A heap of sorrows
a cup of worries
mixed two parts
for a misery in flurry

Starve me of this strangulation
spare me this miserable mess
count me in for the fortunes and freedom
only to mumble away madness
like the truth of sadness in weak threats

But cheap bets placed for success on a pauper’s soul
need years to manifest, and at best eventually worth their weight in fool’s gold
save your investments and pull out your pots and pans
and get to cooking with your neighbors
all that is left in the pathetic thoughts of man

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