Today, we are a bit like Being, as if all personality identities were in disintegration; the Soul can only hold itself as long as it can remain close to humans.
The laughing laughter wrapped in sincerity, like the juicy fruit of the South, always leaks juice, and from the deepest part of curved mirrors, a different gaze flirts with us with wolfish eyes. Because now it is increasingly impossible to notice who is lying honestly and truly and who is telling simplified commonplace truths. Why do we now have to retreat like slugs to a locked house, instead of rowing on the crested, cherishing waves of ports and oceans towards another opportunity?!
It would be good to faithfully search for the centers of gravity of the memory moments that once lived better days, which can only be visited in the depths of the Soul. Most of the single-minded, melancholic gazes have long since secretly settled on the imaginary closing lines; the illusion of the soul explosions slowed down near the soundless melancholic surface, which is considered solid, still keeps humming the petty words of our hearts.
Because it is increasingly difficult to show the roots that have begun to crust in their full reality where character and property collide; even those who could still chant the decades that have passed are ashamed of themselves. The cheap successes of visceral window dressing would perhaps be better closed for good, until a new chapter begins. As if even the average person would be betrayed by their own human smell, in vain for all the creams and luxury perfumes; the triumph of the leap always remains behind them.
It would also be good to recalculate the mortal minutes that were proclaimed as happy eclipses, while only the clocks tick by ticking. The Gordian knots, believed to be eternal, would also have to be cut from the threads of the labyrinths.
Dec 2, 2025
Dec 2, 2025 at 2:26 AM UTC
Today, we are a bit like Being, as if all personality identities were in disintegration; the Soul can only hold itself as long as it can remain close to humans.
The laughing laughter wrapped in sincerity, like the juicy fruit of the South, always leaks juice, and from the deepest part of curved mirrors, a different gaze flirts with us with wolfish eyes. Because now it is increasingly impossible to notice who is lying honestly and truly and who is telling simplified commonplace truths. Why do we now have to retreat like slugs to a locked house, instead of rowing on the crested, cherishing waves of ports and oceans towards another opportunity?!
It would be good to faithfully search for the centers of gravity of the memory moments that once lived better days, which can only be visited in the depths of the Soul. Most of the single-minded, melancholic gazes have long since secretly settled on the imaginary closing lines; the illusion of the soul explosions slowed down near the soundless melancholic surface, which is considered solid, still keeps humming the petty words of our hearts.
Because it is increasingly difficult to show the roots that have begun to crust in their full reality where character and property collide; even those who could still chant the decades that have passed are ashamed of themselves. The cheap successes of visceral window dressing would perhaps be better closed for good, until a new chapter begins. As if even the average person would be betrayed by their own human smell, in vain for all the creams and luxury perfumes; the triumph of the leap always remains behind them.
It would also be good to recalculate the mortal minutes that were proclaimed as happy eclipses, while only the clocks tick by ticking. The Gordian knots, believed to be eternal, would also have to be cut from the threads of the labyrinths.
Request permission to use this poem