The Knowledge that Feeds

Softly once slept

A scholar in his spire.

Dreaming so deeply

His maids thought he expired.

Built him a pyre

Till they heard him respire.

All the world’s people

He stored in ampules.

Mind full of treasure

Laden more than a mule.

Wandered oft from his wife

That poor somnambule.

Sorrows and tomorrows

Those were his muse.

Said he solved hunger

Left his old cook confused.

The drool on his pillow,

It made for poor pews.

Ever the teacher

Made his eyelid a pupil.

Within his dreamworld,

Away from all scruple,

Vomited lies

Just to say he was truthful.

While servants scurried

Keeping tidy his housing.

Bathing their master

When he needed a dousing.

His wealth slowly drained

Yet still he kept drowsing.

First left the maids,

A fortnight gone unpaid;

Farewell to their lord,

The footmen then all bade;

Last went his wife,

Leaving him where he lay.

So passed the scholar,

Starvation his fate.

Wore a million men’s shoes

No strides did he take.

Dreamt of man’s future

Died without a wake.