The Surrender

I fled the city and climbed a mountain
Among the clouds
Lingering and musing
Dickering with perceptions
Bartering unborn truth for unbaked fish-cakes.

I let the wind repart my hair
In a natural sweep, where I had not dared
To part it since
I had grown from a child
To a man
Of sorts.

Shrugging now in recognition
Of how simple great truths are
I carved into the ground that
Bread and circuses are all there is
And left the mountain convinced
The Romans were wise thieves.