February 19, 2010
What do ya know . . .
I always had so much to say,
Yet it seemed to be a rule of thumb,
That when the moment arrived to speak
I always got struck deaf and dumb.
A raging river flowing through my brain;
Always pining to expound.
But alas, what so oft’ time happened, you see,
Those words would transform me into a clown.
A genius, considered I, whilst I was young,
My vast knowledge no bridge could span.
But now the trauma of real knowing sets in,
Woe is me; I am not as witty as I think I am.
So try not to judge me too brash a fool,
As I find myself a headlong rushing
Toward that crushing first step to real knowing,
Toward that true wisdom that says . . .
I know nothing.
A poem by Mitch Gooldy | Wabash Valley Correctional Facility