I did not be a wit

I did not be a wit
because it was impermanent,
because I was but a poor marksman,
because freakish dread just dangled, flashing but untouched;
Wit life is heartbreak, empty-souled, a frozen rope
more equipped for passage than for security;
Wit always pleases itself,
but is never satisfied,
living vampire-like by gleeful acceptance;
Wit requires damnable effort
a relentless awareness and
a walking familiarity with prejudice of all stripes.
And oh the twists of humor,
with rigor examined,
attaching the barb where the greatest harm may be,
Yes, one must have a great understanding to be a wit,
a-watching the worst of our human plight,
sending shots so swift and deftly slight,
that a death may come because of it,
A forceful, shifting, grasping, the aspire to be a wit
decrying lowly day for night;
suggesting, surely, black is white
and to never see the end of it;
I did not be a wit
I grew weary of it.

The Splendid Splinter - Ted Williams