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The Sayings of They
J. Scott Smith
Why do you languish in solitary confined by your own hand
While life marches right by you, and yet somehow you never can find
The means to enjoin it and claim yourself a member of the band
But instead stare like a statue, frozen, falling further behind?
What fear renders you thus, bereft of the most common of graces?
Those you envy look down upon you with the most brazen contempt
Not hiding it's you they've excepted as it flies off their faces
And says to one - to all - from their society you are exempt
Who spoke of drummers and those enraptured by the sound of their own?
They? The same They who said every soul a path of its own must seek?
Those sages of They who say and say, but never to men are shown?
The wise who, though often quoted, are wisely never seen to speak?
Are these this They to whom we attribute so much of what we say
These sayers of sayings, cagey old mages we sagely adorn
As wit and as wisdom, with all the fervor of night meeting day
And vainly offer up as redemption to the lost and forlorn?
The words of those wise have proved and reproved insufficient to save
The sayings of They are tested and too often it seems They lie
Spare my stone of them and their sentiment and write this by my grave
"Her lies he, solitary, life marched by, and as he lived, did die"
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