I pity the fool who lays down at night
Ignorant to the vast expanse of the cosmos
and all that lies within.

Every morning of every day wallowing in misery
A tedious repetition of the past
As should be expected from a being whose imagination
is limited to the primitive confines of unenlightenment.

He sees the boundless ocean
and knows not what means made it present
But curiosity manages to pierce into his thoughts

He sails out to venture into the unknown blissfully,
Pathetically hopeful that he will find the key to life
Instead meeting a swift and painless end
to his sorrows in the shallows.
An abrupt end to an abrupt actuality.

And yet, as pondering gets the better of me, I reappraise
The sheer drear of existence plagued him not;
It is much easier to be illiterate
than to fret over matters not within conscious control
I understand now.
I envy the fool.