Warehouses Of Wisdom
Poem By George Wootton
I visited today a warehouse of wisdom,
tears of sadness clouded my eyes.
There the aged and infirm seek a familiar face
and stifle their grieving cries.
The knowledge they hold, the young do not want
their wisdom they will not heed,
the years of experience mean little now
death grows as a sprouting seed.
They yearn for an ear to whisper into
the warnings of impending danger
to a world of unheeding, faithless young
full of hate and self and anger.
The tears they shed, some of loneliness
but most for the pain of their children
whom they know must face harsh reality
as time their dreams are killing.
They too had to learn the terrible truth
that life is fraught with terrors,
that the dreams they had so long ago
were lost by the cause of their errors.
Errors they yearn to expose to their young
to divert a repeated offence
but deafened ears no wisdom hears
and they turn from their only defense.
If only time could be reversed
when we reach a wisdom plateau
then perhaps one could live a more peaceful life
as toward our youth we go.
We might then heed our own advise
and accomplish our dreams and goals
for ignorance need not play a part
and destroy like hell's burning coals.