2017
A burn that resonated within the neck A man walked away from his nest Already ill years ago yet the self pushed him away On the road for hours and no desire to stop, But his destination was the land on the other side of the Earth, for him anyway A place somehow he dared to call home, even after rejecting it Though perhaps it wasn't his choice. Arriving and preparing, some more walking to a ship There, a welcoming gesture from someone he barely knew But for a week four sail away In a calm tempest that appeared only on the last day No omens and no wishes made, all was well Yet the man who came wasn't done and continued Stepped in the realm of Death And felt nothing upon seeing something that wasn't here Maybe that was why, nothing in this place To tell anyone to come and acknowledge life Instead a silence and a lack of peace surrounding everything But a joke was made and promptly the silence smiled in compassion Yet the man only looked at seemingly cold hands They weren't holding anything, but they wielded something he didn't want A burn that resonated within the neck A man walked away from his nest Take care of the dead and let them rest A job a few are willing to do, but there was something else A strain on the mind and temper, too many papers to sign For something that wasn't alive. Half a death wasted on illusionary order Something made only for wasting time and annoying Time. And so he left the dead to the living, and came back to the sea But the sea rejected him and he could not step back in. Denied an envy without sin, luck itself might have heard a complaint and helped: Coming back to where he came from the man worked on his new home Not alone, he enticed the help of those who helped him so far, His own way of saying thanks and spending time on hating the same thing However, working on it didn't give anything in return. A shelter that was supposed to sign freedom for the man, Instead he decided to enclose freedom itself. Constructed within a few months, within it his own oxygen was made, Filled with a previous shadow, mixed in with the sins of a thousand lives. A strange facade, in which he could lie to those who lived alongside his presence, where work was done and qualifying progression as well. Physical work done just to close back on his freedom as soon as he could, However a door to somewhere else drew him back to occupy the brain and feel innocent. But unearned guilt slipped through the cracks more and more frequently, And day after day the enclosed free man built stronger and stronger walls With a big enough hole to see and smell what was outside. The rare trips to graveyards to remind himself of what he awaits, And a way to respect himself and those who passed away On his own volition he stays away from life even if there is a constant draw toward; A small glimmer of a wrong hope floated and he called someone a friend But as days passed the realisation was that, once again, he disappointed himself. Soul after soul passes in front of him, He can't see correctly but his love continues to act against him A love for none yet for all, for the form but not the purpose. Unecessary, unforgiven and too contradictory. He persists in this belief but he knows all too well that it doesn't work. Wishful thinking as if asking for salvation. That in itself does not make sense for the only one he wronged was life itself. Actions and attitude that make no sense, craving understanding for Father and acceptance from Mother. Even young the man feels old and wounded, and seem to hurt himself without intent of stopping. Unwilling and incapable, his mind spins, Anguish appears and slips through the very fiber that made this being. Creation from a prison, creation from a broken soul, creation from a shattered spirit, Quickly made and quickly forgotten. Clinging to what makes humans human, the irony writes down in what he makes, making it futile. At this moment, a question comes ask itself: Is someone who renounced life itself still alive? And so, I look for salvation in a self-made illusion.