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“And she was fair as is the rose in May.” - Geoffrey Chaucer

“And she was fair as is the rose in May.” - Geoffrey Chaucer

But I don’t want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.
Aldous Huxley, Brave New World
The gods envy us. They envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.
Homer, Iliad
Entropy.

I’ve lived for an eternity in thirty minutes

Lost in the endless expanse of space

Rationalized the universe and values

A system of truths and falsities

Intertwined branches of the same

Locked in the eternal recurrence

Experienced all the joys and sorrows

Horrified by the weight of knowledge

Soothed by overflow, into ignorance.

Religion.

Oh, the woes of great travesty!

None partake in an occult society.

So prone to disregard the unseen,

Set the scene; a hypocrite’s Halloween!

Reactants of rationale and Science meet,

Only to dissipate in the product’s heat.

Knowledge and Truth just out of reach,

Then what exactly does religion preach?

A change of goals and we’re back again,

Lost, yet open to dream of infinite zen.

I feel I must burst because of all that life offers me and because of the prospect of death. I feel that I am dying of solitude, of love, of despair, of hatred, of all that this world offers me. With every experience I expand like a balloon blown up beyond its capacity. The most terrifying intensification bursts into nothingness. You grow inside, you dilate madly until there are no boundaries left, you reach the edge of light, where light is stolen by night, and from that plenitude as in a savage whirlwind you are thrown straight into nothingness. Life breeds both plenitude and void, exuberance and depression. What are we when confronted with the interior vortex which swallows us into absurdity?
Emil Cioran, On the Heights of Despair

No words could ever describe the way I feel, even symbolically.

I create a facade, a persona as I smile amidst desperation, grimly.

Your free spirit so elegant in laughter, never ceases to captivate.

Lost in the twist and turns of life, with only love to motivate.

I’ll probably never comprehend such passion, such will.

I live instead, robbed of the apathy I desire, even still.

I ask in empty space, “What more is love but the product of words,

Strung together in such a way to create the noise “I love you”?

A Symphony.

I’m no masterful composer,

Just simply a selfish imposer.

I strive for effective communication,

But get lost in my hurried navigation.

And all that we’ve ever talked about,

Can be reduced to the length of a mere single shout.

My awkward gestures lead many astray,

Eventually becoming the root of our decay.

I lack the essential requirement for progress,

For I’ve become graceless, without finesse.

Overcoming these trials are worth the pain,

Or so they claim, ignorant of the anger I detain.

And everyday is filled with disappointed glances,

As I miss the most obvious of opportune chances.

But amid the constant letdowns, happiness exists.

Though shrouded in darkness, a blissful joy persists.

Unbeknownst to you, that joy arises from your smile.

Your laughter rings through, making my life worthwhile.

I’m no composer, but for you I shall compose,

A symphony, unmatched by even those of pros.

Aesthetics as Escape?

I’m tripping over my own words, holding to meticulously planned phrases.

Thinking all of this hasn’t been said before, hoping to hold on to your gazes.

And yet I feel myself slipping away, becoming merely a shadow of what I used to be.

I realize I’m only panicking, leading myself astray, I keep going with no guarantee.

Blinded to my own agony, I commence ripping out my hair in immense frustration.

Believing that something will change, and maybe even receive a standing ovation.

I’ll treat this as a performance of sorts, but in the end it’s not something aesthetic.

I’m stuck with the inability to express, resorting to the veil of the will to be poetic.

Castles of Absurdity.

I’ve built up a thousand castles in the sky,

Only to realize that they’re all made of sand,

And now I’ve got nothing to do but standby,

Watching them crumble to pieces and fall to land.

Others will look at me and give me their pity,

Because they only put worth in the ends, not means.

In my eyes, I see but the true colors of absurdity.

An ephemeral existence, unlike those of machines.

And this chilling reminder is greeted only with solace.

I welcome thee, oh God of Death, bringer of salvation,

For I have lived life to the fullest, with no lingering regrets.