Oracle

This oracle of ours resides

Somewhere deep inside

The prison cells of hell

Where they tell tall tales.

He’s condemned to doing time

For his life of crime.

You would think he’d be the last

To hold wisdom fast.

But we know now from experience,

He knows more than most.

What he does with lenience

Deserves a pruno toast.

To him always come

Those still young and dumb,

Seeking insight into things

That make young ears ring.

The hearts of people he knows well,

Like a rat knows smells.

A heart as dark as deepest night,

He makes room to set things right.

Steeped within this errant viciousness,

He obscures finesse.