While she was reciting her poem
she wrote just minutes ago,
she spilled a great
piece of wisdom,

purely accidental of course,
as they are from those
who seem to conjure wisdom
from the air they breathe,
or from mere daily observation.

She poured it onto the whole electric scene
like hot cocoa in a child's winter dream.

Some gulped it, some were aware of it,
some glossed over it, some picked it up
and set it back free again,
some took it in their hands and stomped on it,
vaguely afraid of it.

But most just stared right back
at this wisdom.
No doubt,
the one passed down,
from the great minds
before her,

This invisible line
threaded together
trying to weave itself
back into human synapse
every hundred years,
shouting to be recognized
once more,
but stuck  
chained to the
shelves of history
and soft breathe,

that is until someone
plucks it from the
great landscape of silence,
another entry point,
from which she had
undoubtedly  
terrained.