The Wise

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Wisdom...comes at a price. What is this price I speak of do they ask, they are so clueless as to the true price I have to pay...for I'll always have too much wisdom for my own good...I always wondered if it would ever be payed...I know it never would be. They shy away from the truth, from wisdom like it is a sword dipped in deadly poison...from me, the wielder. Such sorrow they cause...they may be afraid of what they might find, but I know... I know that when they finally decide to come close enough to me...they will run away or attack...and I always pay. They don't listen, they think because of my age I am unwise. They are cowards! They think me small and weak...I am their destruction and their creator. Oh I am alone at the end of the day...in my sorrows I wail out my pain, through my silent screams in thy poetry I write, though I wish they weren't silent sometimes. I am the fighter feared by most, I pity them, the cowardly. I have fought through battles no one should have...I survived, but can my soul make it out of the after math intact, will I continue to constantly fight the scars from consuming me. I live each day on the edge and I wonder if I will finally go insane today or the next. Oh my dearies, I am so so sorry to inform you...that you can not know the price I pay each and every day.

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