The poets of the nation scribed
Shall last like fleeting Israelites
And shall be salvaged by the ink
That permeates their being’s soul
Unto the stone of infin’ty.
Awake from thine haze of defeat
And struggle in the daily duel
Of battle with thy demons’ lives
In hopes of seeing future springs.
Say goodnight to thy most belov’d
As what thou lov’st so dear
Mayth vanish ‘way
I laid one night in my bed, waiting for the stars to bring down the Heavens. While I watched the night, my mother entered and beside me sat.
“Do you often stay awake midnight’s time?” asked she.
“Only when I refuse to breathe,” said I.
“Why do you suffocate?”
“Because I hate this place and lack love for you.”
“But I am your mother, your star, your–”
“You are my obstacle, my chains, my burden.”
And I was alone again with the pouring stars, crashing sky, raging hate, and loneliness.
My pain be of naught
If the river of the pen
Ceased to channel it.
Desire fades not except in love’s true form.
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(I see a pattern here…)