The Fool Poem by Noah Smits

Where prayers to benign spirits echo unengaged
The Fool in his fervor is found
—found within but lost
Duped and better for it

Skies of ice and air do not signify it's fair
The Fool sees the cosmos and shrugs
—he knows something more
Harbored in his own self

Though plasma-charged minds clash with escalating force
The Fool prefers feeble rapport
—he shares in the name
Of outdated worldviews

Outsiders stand by scoffing, all rightfully so
The Fool trods on his own freedom
—he favors the chains
Of illogical mores

When the nihilists prove themselves right in the end
The Fool stubbornly disagrees
—he simply rises up
To meet with Jehovah

Among flocks of Lesser-Thans, leaning to the Light
The Fool is a tantamount speck
—speck of lustrous dust
More fine than buried gold