Is the flesh ignorant of the frailty of the bone?
Maybe pain is like a comfort - there is some -
for those too deluded to focus on things clear.
Attention is a vagrant wing at wind's shear,
lunacy is its repose - doomed whom feel it done.
Enduring graces are rare; feints steadily come.
It's hard to see the mirage when one's alone,
Yet easy to fall blind if one's companies bear:
Acrowd, if laugh dissolve into a tear;
Alone, if Gods turn me into stone.