The discourse on existing, borders on an excercise in humiliation,
a self help guide to reliable self sabotage, rites of passage help grow thickened skin; around feet and hearts,
and speeds past milestones on the road to frustration!

I am not sure if I pity or envy those
who first saw through the greatest conspiracy,
that to survive is all there is to it,
then you are among those who made it, fit to live!

Why is it that all those things
we are taught to strive for, the very same things
that destroy and delineate every last remnant
of who we were, with every turn of the clock!

To see beauty is to know pain, darling,
Art is the sculpture, carved out of sadness,every artist, a lamenting soul trapped in a mortal case, tracing out those life paths unmade, unmapped!

I think I understand why we made Gods, to give some shape to the hope that there must be something more to living, that's how we keep the wheels of time turning, strapped onto those chariots of golden fancy!

We are divine, for we try to make sense of the abyss we are born into, makers of fate,we are intricately knotted tree threads of red and blue,
that breathe life into entire worlds, magnanimous!
© the_acataleptic