Not the gods

Not the gods

It's folly to question the wisdom of the gods,
Says you? No surprises,
Be far from my ink and the sonorous sound that proceed from me.
If ye be not a victim of bequeathed folly,
Draw near and let's see through a Socratic lens.

From which well do these reckless bacchanalians find elixir,
That I in my fastidiousness show a deficiency of exousia,
Perhaps thy gods enjoy the theatrics of wine,
While I, veiled in a scrupulous folly aspire to their grace to shine.

Don't get bored though my litanies may nauseate you,
Did you not learn by heart sayings of sages and called them thoughtful,
Those whose astute eyes couldn't see the obvious blindness of karma,
gods who reward flamboyance with dignity,
And even in crime's prime men will come for lime.

The one that baffles me most and denies me sleep,
Athena and accomplices with their folklores of bedridden wisdom
Have thrown away the golden ink of history,
Whether of nonchalance, of ignorance, or their characteristic folly,
Men found the ink to write their history and karma became a common bitch.