Am i marching towards what i want
Acceptance of boundaries crossed
Fearful of silencing sentence enders
Am i marching into complacency
In the same way i once did
Backwards into hell
Orpheus, oh, fool– look back, look back
Upon the path you have tread to reach this point
The shadows were in the foreground
Prophecizing in soliloquies ignored
How much ground shall i idly yield to an idol
When did i place you there?
So lofty above
Adored, and yet– even the divine broker arrangements
Flowers pressed have more in common
And yet, Euridyce, is rid of all I see
In pursuit of my own passions, yielded
So where, what circle do i march towards?
For what do i burn, yearn, and turn away from, for?
The delights that delight in me in word, and deed yet
Is it for me– or for me?
I have read much of great love and yet
Experience is a cruel governess to chide me so
Cruelty is found in many forms, and indifference
Is such a boring blade to bleed from
Hell is full of fools –
Is that why I must open my window
Frightful of humidities smother
Oh, brother– where art thou?
You set such a divine example and vanished
Like lightning you flashed – and dashed
Spring has sprung from my step
Jovial nay jestorial i am the fool to think
Love is a game best played jaded
Jagged with jowls and howls in the night
Biting and tearing save the one whom once torn
i find i am falling up
Just as worried as ones descent
Should the rocks and waves below shatter me
So the sun above burn me
Is nowhere truly safe?
Save love’s embrace
Where daggers most patiently wait behind pursed lips
Such ides, eyeing march onward
What greater role in stagery than the fool?
Absent of the melodrama heights and lows
Yet er’ present to the humilities and ‘ations
i look back and it all seems to appear
Yet stories tell me it should vanish
It should be ripped from my hands
All i feel is the blood from my palms
And the stones in my belly
Won’t some eagle come pluck this from me
Spare me, pare me, and serve fare me
Am i marching – with the soldiers
Promised by Shakespeare in battalion after battalion
Not to sleep nor slumber nor rest but to sorrow
What awaits this springless march?
Idle Steps Vol. 2, 3.1.25
“Falsified Thoughts”
@env0writes C.Buck
Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0
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