Wisdom (and its elusive accumulation)


I accumulate

Snippets and scraps of wisdom

Furiously copy and collect quotes

Try and grab on to ideas in hopes that they’ll stick.

But they drift and settle

In nondescript locations

And no matter how badly I want to hold on to their quality

They dry up, break down, and lose their initial splendor.

Rarely permanent

A wind change and they’re scattered.

I grasp at them;

But no sooner does the fist close ’round

Than they dissolve and fade from memory.

No sooner do I identify one

Than that leaf blows neath the rest of the heap

No longer remarkable, decipherable, identifiable

From the rest.

Further proof that 

All these – none of these –

Are mine to keep or hold as my own.

Neither wisdom, nor moments, nor leaves, nor snowflakes

Nor any other of the divine’s holdings

My property.

A steward is all

Whose domain’s graciously on loan

And hopefully, whose care and keeping            

Not wasted.