Burnt Paper

So what is wisdom but remembered ignorance?
Do we hold the pain of failure replayed within a crystal ball,
And replay the images in words we hope reflects our best
Do we ignite a spark, a common fire,
That says together, I know you.
Do we hold the memory to help others?
Or will the tears wash out the fire one day, alone.

Did I steal it all from the buddha?
And recite at seventeen, ancient wisdoms.
Like Oscar Wilde defining youth as knowing the value of nothing?
Did my thoughts,like teardrops fill the buddhas ancient jar?
As the fool who persists in his folly becomes wise..

Do I share the fire,while it burns?

My last words,on burnt paper,
Still to crumble

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