I cannot fathom
Such desire.
To see her brightness
Grow higher.
Why long for death,
Destruction?
Eudaemonia, as bittersweet as
My John.
A name of vicenary,
Aged one to two to nine.
A yearning
As dangerous as a dangerous flame.
That consumes my heart
With its console—like a deadly game.
For though the two,
Defeat or glory.
An aftermath—
So as a different story.
Scars and scabs,
Deep and wide.
And in my wake,
Countless goodbyes.
In glory of such senselessness!
Strive with all my might.
I thirst of her wounds,
Here and there, out of tune.
Melodies of our strings can reign,
I long of her, will she wane?
-
end.
Category: Free Verse Poetry
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𝗮𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗮𝘅𝗶𝗮 (αταραξία)
Random𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲. A poetic sanctuary where contradictions find harmony-a delicate interplay of sorrow and joy, chaos and...
