I sit in front of my notebook,
Pen in my hand,
Waiting for profundity to arrive.
Profundity saw me enter the cafeteria
and quietly slipped away for a drive.

I look around and see
And listen to the chatter.
Stories of their lives,
Stories on a platter.
“Son is getting married.”
“Daughter’s giving birth.”
“Took a course in Mandarin.”
“Cruised around the earth.”

Chatter becomes noise. Noise becomes dull.
Hollow empty voices filling up my skull.

But I’m still awaiting
Waiting for the moment
When Wisdom will whisper in my ear.
My notebook’s still open;
I’m looking at the sky.
The ink’s getting dry.
Waiting for profundity. Waiting for wisdom.
The sun is in my eye
And all that arrives is a tear.

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