The Folly of Wisdom
by Michael R. Burch

She is wise in the way that children are wise,
looking at me with such knowing, grave eyes
I must bend down to her to understand.
But she only smiles, and takes my hand.

We are walking somewhere that her feet know to go,
so I smile, and I follow ...

And the years are dark creatures concealed in bright leaves
that flutter above us, and what she believes—
I can almost remember—goes something like this:
the prince is a horned toad, awaiting her kiss.

She wiggles and giggles, and all will be well
if only we find him! The woodpecker’s knell
as he hammers the coffin of some dying tree
that once was a fortress to someone like me

rings wildly above us. Some things that we know
we are meant to forget. Life is a bloodletting, maple-syrup-slow.

Published by Romantics Quarterly, Boston Poetry Magazine, Famous Poets and Poems, Litera, Poetry Life & Times and Freshet

Keywords/Tags: Stoops, folly, wisdom, children, wise, know, knowing, understand, understanding, life, death, grave, years, dark, leaves, trees, prince, toad, kiss, fairytale, coffin, fortress, bloodletting, maple, syrup

Love hurts when it can't be shared.
Say to the one I love? I would not dare.
I'd like to think that we'd make a great pair.
But should I share, it would end with despair.

Love and Dare.
Always a pair.

The friendship is strong,
the bond constructed,
Though it hasn't been that long,
My love could be obstructed.

Love and Dare.
Everywhere.

Should I say love,
he might say no.
Is it worth the risk?
I wish it was so.

Love and Dare.
A nightmare.

Or a dream come true.
You never know if you don't ask.

I am eighteen years old.
That doesn't seem like a lot,
But to me,
It is everything.

Eighteen years is all I've ever known.
Even if I died tomorrow,
Still eighteen.
While that might not seem like much to you.
You are probably not eighteen.

Despite my age,
I have been through a lot.
Some say more than most,
Even then those who are older.

At eight years old I lost my dad.
At eleven years old I lost my mom.
At eighteen years old,
I've learned to be okay with that.

Between eleven and thirteen I was abused.
I eventually escaped and was safe again.
At eighteen years old I am still in fear of this sometimes,
But I am working on that.

At seventeen years old I applied for college.
I was accepted and excited to go.
At eighteen years old I dropped out.
All of the anxiety and illnesses became too much,
But I am working on that.

For eighteen years I've dealt with mental illness.
Currently being called Bipolar,
Manic and depressive episodes are common,
But I am working on that.

In the past eighteen years,
I've learned new things.
I've learned who to trust,
And who to believe.
However,
I am still working on the difference between them.

In eighteen years I've learned to let go.
Toxic or not.
Family or not.
Just letting grudges be free.
I'm still working on that.

In eighteen years I've learned skills.
With the musicals I've been in.
With my writing continuing.
Even better at communicating now.

But yet I am eighteen.
With time hopefully left,
Leaving room to gain new experiences,
Because eighteen isn't a lot.

But I do thank eighteen.
For all that it has taught me.
From being confident,
To being reassured,
And everything in between.

Because I am almost nineteen.
And nineteen is a lot.

I want to show my friends what I write here
But I am filled with fear
at what they would say
or think
about me writing online and not with ink
but here for everyone to see
and I know the things they would read
would change how they look at me
because they don't know everything
and they really don't know me