My wings do not break under the truth,
I am not a storm, but the rot that comes after.
May every breath you steal from this world turn bitter, and every step lead you deeper into the dark.
You were only a mirror, not a masterpiece.
The mirror holds no loyaltyโ
It returns my gaze without recognition.
I wipe the glass, but it does not clear,
Only smears the outline of someone I used to be.
How often do we beg for reflection,
Only to recoil when it stares back unchanged?
Even the mirror tires of remembering me
I saw a bird once,
Its wings dipped in oil and light.
It sang not for the world,
But to defy its own reflection.
The melody bent the air around it,
Breaking the stillness into fragments of motion
Your thoughts are not entitled to their privacy
All that is, is tangible
What you think is mine to witness
Your deep, internal betrayals of me are my business.
Why does showing compassion have to hurt? Why does being someone who shows empathy frequently lead a very chaotic lifestyle?
Aphrodite, the Goddess in this scenario, ripostes these inquiries implying that to understand compassion is to gratify that you are lucky to wield it
โTell me, as benevolence surely is ordained to mend, then why does it extinguish those who adopt it?
For incessant entropy is the malediction of the half-loved.โ
โ
From somewhere beyond the clouds, I heard the Goddess laugh.
And I Knew.
A personal anecdote: Often times I have dreams of events or scenarios that fulfill themselves in reality a short time after I have them, most of the time being negative experiences. I never know how to react, or who to even share it with, fearing I will be seen as crazy or a liar
My nightmares turned to premonitions,
As then I had to suffer through them twice.
To warn me? or to Warn me โ I must ask.
I beg You to release me of this superstition,
I beg You to release me from agony and silence.
He who hears my cries, will wear my mask.
Speaking on the orders of magnitude in which we perceive consciousness. A dog, of lower level sentience, has no clue that the water is hot, as we have no idea that what we beg God for is harmful to us. Despite knowing that fact, we continue to beg for material possessions.
My dog begs for the water on the stove, oblivious to the waterโs boiling temperature.
Is this how one looks begging God for frivolous worldly gifts.
And so I must ask,
Couldst thou once more play the savior?
An impossibly tough choice that has become divisive amongst my audience, what is the right path? Embrace tradition or accept the impermanence of existing as a whole?
I feel like maybe I will start to annotate what I put on here, after all this is a private forum with no beneficiary from mysticism. If mysterious wisdom instead is what you seek, say your peace immediately.
Can you feel your heart burning?
Can you feel the struggle within?
The fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make.
You cannot kill me in a way that matters.
How shall I stand after wanting to atone for my past?
Doth I stand tall,
Or faithfully steadfast?
Or to not stand at all,
Consumed by the sentiments having amassed.
What then holds all the weight when I become lifeless?
Can God truly ever forgive us?
Professing unequivocal omnipotence, using only the indices that support thine hypothesis.
Joy, the vigilante to comparison, tirelessly acts against these endeavors.
Will you cross swords with the man who freed you from these shackles of despair?
Why should you.