I feel like my wisdom is fading by the waste side I have admired the illusion I have listened to it I have felt it But one part of me does not believe it How does wisdom die? Is it when air leaves my lungs? Is it when my laughter turns into grief? Is it when tranquil silence is overrun with my inequities? When did my ocean become dry? When will this drought end? I want the water that flows from the cliffs of my spiritual being to fill my body once again I want back the wisdom and clarity that protected and nurtured my innocence I want my gray hairs to not be in vain