We're here again.
Right back to square one.
Pathetic. Useless. Void.
Father tells me I seek it out, for truth, I am not sure.
It becomes insurmountable to... visualize 'The Pure.'
The legends and stories and great heroes of old, seem better than here.
Dark. Damp. Cold.
Restlessness and exhaustion create the perfect hypocrisy, a loop, a paradox of grand uncertainty.
That's where the Dark Prince lies does he not?
He sews his seeds of clouds, confusion, hatred and rot...
The King of life however, is, what the Dark Prince is not.
Hope and laughter, joy and justice... I've seen.
It becomes tiresome to fight all the time.
Against giants behind a screen, against giants that remain in my psyche unseen.
Against The World and The World against me it seems.
Drastic highs, undefinable lows...
It becomes tiresome for truth, sitting there, crying as the wind blows.
Never enough... Never too much to give... But I try.
Even still I fail.
My body aches and my mind, and bones have become frail.
In plainspeak, I'm tired.
But I must brave the fire.
If I do not, then they too... shall fall and be lost.
YOU ARE READING
Dichotomy
PoesíaThe observant is always watching. Humanity is here and thriving, but our world won't be surviving our reign. Alive, but not noticed in living. Here we are. A new life, new words, a new start. Aug. 12th 2019 - June 18th 2021 Vol. 1
