Epic of Introspect

What is life without the trouble?
A love without failure,
A day without struggle?

The selfish fear of existence unhindered,
Dreams broken
The air scared by the nails of my flailing fillful hands
Hands in pain
Hands with purpose

I had direction
What is a face without the eyes?
What is a bond without the ties?
Does a shadow hide or block the light?
Does a world scream for sun?
Or is it granted?

But what is pain without the cries?
A whithered man before he dies?
As life is war, my love is a massacre.

In the wind,
Under the superficial sky of human experience,
I am chilled,
Is it from cold?
Or the realization of the fleeting unknown?

The summary of this human experience.

For the times you feel small,
Embrace the wind,
take it in

The consumed are marked by the indulgences gated in their faces.

With their voices
They spew the lamentations of the damned,
Of so many before.

This corpse I call a conscience rules my world,
The perpetuation of my inherant seminal defficiancies.
My humanity

There are words of hope,
Although I hate what I've heard,
Hate what I've heard

The realization of what I havent achieved lingers before my eyes.
Like the dying to the starving.

This is what perpatuates me as the strongest link in a broken world..
A chain of broken will and lives.

Wind these cords that bind my neck

Absorb me into the nihlistic construct that knows no bounds.
Beneath the solitary rays of a setting sun,
I watch the world digress.
I wonder of futures,
I wonder of freedoms,
I wonder of hope,
and of love,

Alone