Monday, July 13, 2009

On the Nature of Man

How sad to see those who stand before me,
those I dearly love but shrink from me.
For my unwanted thoughts so piercing,
invade their precious memory.
And they laugh and turn away,
thinking the girl has lost her mind.
And I am but searching for things lost with time.
And this she speaks in tongue,
for surely some are meant to never know.
The things in which she whispers are the talkings of my soul.
And this I am:
The tragic poet, the love of days of old.
The mad artist, as the picture slowly unfolds.
A lover of death, for I've embraced it fondly.
And looked upon life, and its creatures kindly.
But the humans, are far from harmless.
As I'm plagued with the thoughtless.
And I find myself standing alone,
for that is how its always been.
And the Gods have remembered past sins,
in which I have committed.
And this tragedy is,
why I feel at all?
Or why I came to be?
Such a tug of war with myself,
on the nature of humanity.

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