More in heaven and mirth, Moratio

Life is more than the wisdoms of old men,
than the sage saws of unseeing soothsayers,
brayers and braggarts and artless sharks,
more then gaping into the open-and-shut maw of society's whistling whale,
waiting my turn, dusting and cleaning the carpet before the inevitable,
more than the lonely church edifice of limestone and lichen
where weeds grow over the unmarked gravestones,
more than pages of ideas,
untested unsolidified
as if running through a fog with mouth open
could ever quench your thirst.

so much more my nose bleeds for it.