I yearn for a fire, a flame of red hot passion,
Much like Prometheus bound to rock by chains of steel,
I live in silence, i become Echo,
Repeating a question in my head, though no answer exists.
Like Odysseus adrift, on an endless sea,
I wander in circles, no land in sight for me.
Siren calls of distraction, they beckon, enthrall,
But their allure fades, leaving echoes in the squall.
Like Dorian Gray, trapped in eternal youth,
The monotony seeps, distorting truth.
I paint my façade with a smile so bright,
Hiding the shadows that haunt me at night.
Boredom and loneliness, a duality profound,
In these depths of despair, my soul can be found.
Yet, through myth, history, and literature's grace,
We find solace, art's sanctuary, our saving embrace.
I wonder how great Baudelaire felt,
When he wrote all of Spleen and died a tragic death,
Was there animosity towards the world,
Or did apathy prevail the test against time.
YOU ARE READING
Collection of Random Writing
LosoweA collection of things I've written for fun over the years. Started as a CAS project, but now it's become a hobby.
