behold a mystery

[fledgist]

a narrow vision leads us to the gate
where what we find is what we least desire
only those goods we wish not to acquire
those ugly gifts that we get just too late
the simple signs of those who most berate
rather than giving up in face of ire
the golden trinkets we do not admire
so we blame justice and sad misty fate
this is the hour when no star ever shines
but we hear nothing but our own long sighs
and do not see the monster when it comes
nor wish to know with which crew it aligns
mistrusting evidence of our own eyes
yet ready even now to gather crumbs