for all of those that have spoken a lot about doing, but didn’t do much of that doing…
He played with fire and flesh that day,
“To burn is not a consequence,”
He said with a burst of sobriety
“It’s a rite of passage from innocence”
He was thinking of thinking and doing, and
Doing nothing about doing.
Like curdled milk his tacky wisdom dribbled
over the ears of friends and
Lovers who braved to trail beside him,
“Young hearted fools are overwhelmed by
Warm emotions and tender naïve hearts”
He gushed and roared, like a wounded lion,
“But fools grow up and hearts grow stronger,
For the gravity
Of what was said to permeate, diffuse and
Immediately fall into disuse and short-term-memory reflux.
He played with words and wit that day:
Became overwhelmed with passion
Burnt himself with his own tongue
Grazed on the borders of naiveté,
And lost all pairs of ears but one.