My Mind Tirades

I am filled with no such piquancy,
Or wondrous sense of joy,
When child wraps his fingers round mine,
Or rattles at me his toys.

Adolescence does not hamper me,
Nor working men in clothes,
Your psychology seems redundant,
In the light of worldly woes.

Tired of wishing, sighing and cursing,
For things have long, grief overcome
You cannot wish for pitchers half-empty,
When the wine in your cellar has over-run.

I do not seek thought, or after-thought,
Nor seek solutions etched in trees,
I can no longer run errands for intellectual minds,
Whose conclusions are dichotomies.

Philosophy, I can no longer bear,
It plagues my mind, too stark
It makes no sense to ponder light,
While your feet are stumbling in the dark.

Provide me with answers, ask no questions,
I will not indulge in such levity.
Supply me with hands, not with words,
And engage me only in brevity.

I can no longer pocket inane dilemmas,
That enquire into worldly thought,
When the world itself is burning,
In the midst of a heathen drought.

Since pensivity, has turned me cold, unfeeling,
Revealing truths in shades of grey,
I refuse to delve further into dusty books,
And rather labour in this light of day.