As I cast myself into my own grave,
I felt the stares burn into my own wood,
The words of mass play me into a knave:
A role not fit for those who cast all could.
Within my peace I felt a string—
The torque making Man live another day.
I rang a bell to remain a being
In hope we cry that he will never stay.
The high tide rose and wet my sorrow heart,
Its blood transitioning its very state;
Within my core a still began to part,
My corps latching onto a costly fate,
Eyes anew no longer a regarder,
Soul anew—né ripe with a new ardor.
friday 8 november 2024 @20:15