And I’ll tell you for why,
Fortune is a non-existent property for him no matter how noble the soul,
Matter of universal favours and quantum physics; need not apply,
The odds are stacked against in overwhelming fashion,
Every, barely life-affirming checkpoint harshly earned through a wall of sociopathic, opposing force,
Expelling the effort like that of a decorated yet hidden hero,
Despite the insight into the repeat of that same familiar pattern,
Try,
Between another strained attempt or infliction of loss on others, what choice is there; if noble he truly denotes himself,
So much love,
Yet so inadequate.
Beneath the typical,
Consistent in the experience of a land of coping,
Just a taste of what it is like..
Just a confirmation that the possibility of difference is still alive,
But relentless webs of lies and mirages just out of reach tease and destroy,
Psychologically and physiologically exhausting the fire of the spirit.
In evidence of the past,
What is there to look forward to but more of the same?
Merciless to thy self,
Internal judgementality intended to keep from becoming self-absorbed,
An unfair effort to be morally perfect,
Unfair expectation from all conceivable angles.
Almost hysterically insane at the point arrival,
Subconscious defense mechanism against the ultimately darker alternative emotion,
But aversion techniques do not distract the mind from the awareness of it sitting there on the shoulder,
Black and beckoning,
Promising tranquility and peace,
Sometimes I mistake it for being the taste of life that I seek.
This open post was written 5 months ago | V/U/S: 175, 4, 3 | Edit Post | Leave a reply | Report Post
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