January 11th, 2005

  • bardia

The Lonesome Bard

O rage, O nausea, O suffering.
Forsaken me have you?
Contributing to my unholy end,
I once saw such plastic realities. I shunned it.
I showed it my Evil eye.
Alas, when will these winters of hell end,
I wish to separate myself from Myself,
The utter impossibility of such a task tortures me endlessly.
O scandal, O pain, O hate,
relieve me from your monstrous grasp,
set me free to fly in feelings unfelt,
the reassurance of others is unsettling,
“Those who suffer most become most beautiful.”
Such infinitely absurd wisdom.
Such lies, such folly!
Always plagued by doubts,
doubt is my enemy and greatest sin.