Sunstroke

Your words fall now on parched ears, burnt crisp from the learned sun - I sat around your campfire - drank such full cups of wise tell, that when doubt slept beneath me, tailed my shadow thoughts, I railed; against the glare of a sun only then known to me dyed colours unnatural, charred with your fervor for 'knowledge' - I speak from heretic books, now; I am silent with truth.