You, you so roseborn and luminous,

in guise and lifted into nothingness,

out of fear blunted blind and bound,

selling grief all its laughable advices


You, you lie springless and inconsolable,

in famine outside of Truth’s Mercy


This is tragic


It is the broken’s tears


This is freedom in a world of dross


You weathered down call yourself perfect

while life’s dumb illusions become wills

and thoughts shape more dumbness

to explain reasons for all dumbness


Waivers of the only raised above

are tolerating vexed ridiculous ideals, 

defined out from futilities’ stomachs

and will be found where miseries hunts


For while all High is praised

you love with what is spoiled



scraped forth

in suffering

where naught was 

and soon forgotten

in turned sight’s snaring deeds


Warming this powerless pathfinder

which should loathe suffering’s might,

before he here infected will self-starve

outside the existence of Truth’s mercy

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