Suffering Fools

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What a waste is a fool with power desperate for a thought

The bite of fools’ sound bites foolish notes of naught

Nothing is the price of fools with power

It buys you less and leaves you sour

Like a weed growing out from ‘neath the eves

So starved for light it crowds the others’ leaves

Just so ideas held hostage struggle languish

Midst their vapid weakling speckled grayish

Each a torturer one day at judgment will they say?

Their answer for their waste will simply be they cannot repay.


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