Some crappy poetry I wrote. (Or is it a monologue?)
Pray, tell me. For what becomes the worth of living when the life for which life remained becomes lost, pray, whisper forth to mine ear. Soft, speak the words, the words of past long forgotten by those to whom it was not told. For why. Why tellest thou. Think of it not, as lest it show itself as true before mine visage, a sight most unseamly.
That which hath commeth, and left in the same breath of the world, and life, bestowed great thoughts unto oneself. Wonders of why, why occurrences must be, and why their continuation must continue. For, that which hath left, never commeth back. Soft. Pray, listen. Listen to the words, and hear the truth as it flows. The harsh grating of truth among the smooth sides of deception we hold so dear. And the shore that bore it all, is not life but the mind that stands before and questions unto the sanguine abyss of eternity. Why, Why!? why.
why must these things remain the way they have been written into our minds, we believe them changed and true, lest forgotten to time. To recover what is lost, one must first lose themself, and accept the sequential fate of time. Let them join in mind, in the lostness of themselves. For to comfort oneself, is to shroud in lies to consort against the sharp, piercing blades of truth, which many armor against.
Allow oneself, the nobility, and honor, shed thine armor, cast it into the dark. For there is none greater protection than the embracement of the truths and their wise pain. Take the tale that is told and tell it together in truth to those whom tell tall tales told to them. Try triumphantly to tear the tyrannous traitorous tales lacking truthfulness to take truth to those telling tales.
Lest, truth takes one. Into the dark.
izzy806
stormborns
vaporwave
gummygunk
pixelskylines
prguitarman
baratheonpilled
