These too may pass

In those moments
When men’s spirits
Are spritely
And their souls
Trot to an hidden
Rhythm of intensity
With their hearts
Filled with an
Ecstacy so glamorous
Yet so inexplicable,
Do they stop
In reflective sobriety
And wonder at life’s contrast?
And at the adulterous
Shame that is fortune?
Or
Do they just
Throw worry, care
And philosophy
To any wind
That cares to blow?
Do they just pray
That these winds
Carry away these thoughts
And their fruitions too

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