This too shall pass

what happened of enlightenment
the sage of copenhagen laments
the light of an age rests in plunder
stepping on promises abandoned over transient wonders

the last of his blunts was burnt out
his often clairvoyant eyes, now weary in self-doubt
chasing the trail of an illusive scent
in stark dilemma his strength was spent

his face flushed in mistrust
poised to strike, if he must
the veins on his arms holding back a swelling storm
to his own accord his thoughts would not conform

the wind on his face,
still made him to contemplate
this too shall pass, said the sun on his back
poetry on his mind was bebop,
trap smack

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