Burning inside with violent anger, bitterly I speak to my heart: created from matter, of the ashes of the elements, I am like a leaf played with by the winds.

If it is the way of the wise man to build foundations on stone, the I am a fool, like a flowing stream, which in its course never changes.

I am carried along like a ship without a steersman, and in the paths of the air like a light, hovering bird; chains cannot hold me, keys cannot imprison me, I look for people like me and join the wretches.

The heaviness of my heart seems like a burden to me; it is pleasant to joke and sweeter than honeycomb; whatever Venus commands is a sweet duty, she never dwells in a lazy heart.

I travel the broad path as is the way of youth, I give myself to vice, unmindful of virtue, I am eager for the pleasures of the flesh more than for salvation, my soul is dead, so I shall look after the flesh.

Submitted by Mark Logan, who writes: “not really a poem, not necessarily my favorite, but one that's been on my mind for a while.”