Dis(mal)satisfaction

From the cliffs of (in)voluntary solitude I watch,

As far down below, below the green and the trees and the lively things,

People float down the river that they call Life,

Pregnant vessels of meaning, seeking yet never finding,

Pushing yet never gaining,

Giving yet never taking,

Witnessing yet never seeing, apprehending

With neither wit nor necessity; but how can one who seals himself away

Ever truly understand what it must feel like to bare your soul to another,

To be trapped in their webs of meaning and to feel connected even if the threads that

Bind are nothing more than gossamer floating in the wind, tight as a noose around the neck of a lily?

How can one who has never dared feel pass judgement on those who do? How can one who

Questions the worth of everything pass judgement on those who know beyond convincing, who require

no external aids, but are guided by twin arrows of instinct and faith shot from the bows of Apollo and

Arjun?

What kind of man passes judgement on his fellow man, at all?