In the corridors of infinite thought, Redemption hides her lucent eyes, Where all worth and wisdom is wrought, In the silent moments of still repose. And yet the fool who, all this, knows, Still proffers that wisdom can be bought, Yet, when that dead end is reached, he sighs, For, in himself, were the answers that he sought.Birth sign: Aquarius
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Toby Abbot.