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A Cloak of a Fortunate Mind
And so, forlorn, the boy will rest and bid adieu the night,
For terrors dwell beneath his sheets and roam, furloughed from sight.
He once had thoughts of stringed delights which kept him at his seat,
But new brought thoughts had tangled the old and raised him off his feet.
The once upon a dreamful state came ripened with new fruit,
“Oh hath, young prince, and try a taste!’’ the conscience mind ensued.
The rights and wrongs and viewings of things engulfed his inner place,
What once felt good grew sour and bad with a bitterly aftertaste.
He mourned the death of his old life and yearned for its resurrection,
But the power of knowledge and new truth swallowed became his entire possession.
A redolence of tempting pleasures grew rapidly through his eyes,
But he who learnt to live by them grew weary of their own lies.
“We shall not question what is,” the masses will often conclude.
But those very same who are blind in their hearts shall live in disquietude.
For to see with the heart can be bloodied with fraught of chaos and braving unknowns,
But to tell with the eyes can then mask and disguise like the skin on our very own bones!
So to replace “What is?” with “Why is it?" can become a daunting burden,
For the ignorant will know and profess their own lies while the wise will open their curtain.
But what if those who are kept from the truth were born to be dumb and blind?
Then they shall walk through a dreamful life with a cloak of a fortunate mind.