U n b u r y t h e S e v e n t h
A vase on the table of past.
Six selves missing the seventh.
What words were left?
Ones that satisfied everything but happiness, loss?
Is the cowardly world conquerable together?
But weren’t they always on their own?
I have lived a thousand lives already. Every day I find relics of myself in the sand.
The death of the self.
The heroism in the unattainable.
B y t h e E d g e o f E n d
Here lies a companion for nature’s ground.
The antagonist for a limitless reality found.
No painter or composer could frame this commitment.
Battle, a fierce battle.
Fight for an answer and join a world
not confined to intimate things.
Surrender at last, the struggle is over.
Wishing for independence among others.
Find another connection.
One that is separate from your mother’s.
The question is if your purpose is good here?
There is no answer.
Overtaken with relief, instead of fear.
Without virtues, who can you be? Who could you become?
Overwhelming doom you can’t run from.
Realization laid you down, made you numb.