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Laurin Thor Jun 2018
There is a hole inside my chest.
I didn‘t ask it to be there
I don‘t know where it came from
But it doesn‘t seem to care.

Everytime I see a glimpse of serenity
it taints me again:
A corrupting presence
strangling my spine
choking my soul.

What has changed?
Where is the cause?
I‘ve lost ascendancy
over the demons I thought
to have slain long ago.

Again I‘m afraid.
Afraid to speak too much,
afraid to be silent for too long.
Afraid to be me
and afraid to disguise myself.

It seems my fortune has vanished
from my control.
And in dark moments
the only thing that‘s left
is the fear that
something has changed
irreversibly.

What once got close
seems to drift apart again
before it could begin to coalesce.
And I stand weak
before my inner chaos.

My mind is a maze
and I have lost the map.
How am I supposed to find my way back
with this chasm in my head?

~

My confidence is torn.

~

There is a hole in the sky
and it slowly pulls me in.
Will it erase me or cleanse me?
And will the scourge inside of me
finally die?
Wrote this when I was in a pretty dark place.
Laurin Thor Jun 2018
The dreadful is not bearable.
The good is unreachable.
Our gods condemn us.
And death is a curse.

We all suffer. We all fear.
Anguish and distress
are not utterly in our hands.
We are not in control
of our life and death.

Do not despair.

~

For somatic dread
is equalized by
the deepest pleasures.
For fear is merely
an imperfect prison.

Do not despair.

~

For the good
is within our reach.
Let go of empty desires.
Dismiss aversion
and attain true delight.

Do not despair.

~

For the divinity of the gods
is our shield.
Internalize the truth:
within the divine
there is no wrath.

Do not despair.

~

For our deepest grief
lies in the fear of death.

Do not despair.

For death is no curse
and life is not far from complete.
Embrace mortality
and make it the gem of your being.

No damnation awaits.
No sorrow is at hand.
For death is insentient.
The ancient sage:
his life my blueprint
his death my archetype.

Do not despair.

For death is insentient.

~
This is a poem based on a paper I wrote about a part of the philosophy of Epicurus.

— The End —