Find me the wise man who can circumvent realism,
In favor of idealism.
And I will show you commitment,
Easily discarded, rather than lived with.
What good is this wisdom admired in theory,
A seed that is planted, covered up and neglected.
Buddha himself stared at walls until weary,
Until even the rocks shone with doubt he reflected.
How many read and apply just these scraps?
Of thoughts bred in context and context that lacks.
How many savor horderves as a meal?
Pieces of thought cut for lasting appeal.
Little is known about humans in fact,
But one thing is sure that all of us lack,
Instinct, intuitively, giving instruction,
Of what should we do, rather than just dictate function.
Or perhaps what is done, is what truly is meant,
In that case to wonder and cruelly lament.
A loving caress offered while one is leaving,
Speaks nothing of mercy given hearts one is cleaving.