Muttering voices

  "The Endless Search"  In search for the cure for a fool, He almost became one Until he was forced back to his wretched holes By the strong fledgling arms of new reasonings  Standing tall against all the body of piled up truth he has ever known. Truth stored up for long  Soon loses its efficacy And become sour in the mouth of youngsters Who the new times have overfed with sweet sense at their fingertips.  How we ever came to this point Has eluded both sense and reason Nonetheless, we are on a march With ourselves, dead or alive, as the perpetual slaves of our search to know which lies beyond knowledge... 

  "To Beg is Crime" I won't beg you for your thoughts anymore, Though mine are daily shared on the streets  by men deprived of home-grown pleasures, Yet, I won't act beggarly before you. No, I won't beg you, even though I am one. We have been warned by you not to be choosers in life Even when the options are myriad.  So we won't admit the conditions of our minds.  No, we will hide behind the cloak of feigned riches, And pocket our huge balls of ignorance from your scolding eyes, To be a beggar is an off-sense, to act rich is good sense. We will be rich before you, But romance in the dark our plenty I-don't- knows  Which we are hated for ever desiring to know.