A Thinking Plague
by Michael Doyle

Peeped at through the window my mind's eye
It seems to philosophize is to learn to die
There is to every life an adversary named death
One that we must fight until our last breath

Fruitful in our play had through conversation
Is the knowledge that we all meet this destination
The best that we can hope for is to die well
Happily composed in having managed to tell our tale

As we look down the long road of our veiled approach
May it be that we do so without society's reproach
Though sinners and saints hold equal approximation
A questing soul might yet long for love's approbation

Those born high in station find delight in treasure
The rest of us seek to find our way through even measure
It is for those in this middle ground to strive to think
Without the burden or excuses of those who simply drink

There is in life a thinking plague full of obfuscation
In which over analysis holds its paled composition
In a paralysis that leads to a detachment from things
The likes of which tomorrow seldom ever truly brings

It seems that Hume has accidentally taught me a lot
Over half of which, it seems, in my dreams, I've forgot
Came from the flow of his well inked pen touching parchment
Carelessly glossed over without meaning to nor meant

(c) December 28, 2021  Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved