Sweet despair, my midnight mistress, oh how you ignite my passions.
Tribulations infinite spawn manufacts divine.
Complicated algorithms this machine in turmoil fashions,
Weaving, chipping, sieving for a-natural design.
Self-destructive operations tend, the mind, to overwhelm.
Hearty incantations of the spirit, yet, defend.
Pushed beyond his limits, one may wonder-wander to the helm.
Ship's upon doomed missions make their course until their end.
Artificers carve away, their craft: idyllic aestheticians.
Strings that pull on spirits may yet siphon their morale.
Lovers bound in honeymoon reveal themselves unseen magicians,
Summoning forth beauty when the sky itself grows stale.
Bittersweet nostalgia offers weary minds a rest from toil.
Soil seeps between the cracks of memories forgot.
Thunderous infernos, in their glory, burn a shade most royal,
Razor blades, defiant, iterate on what they're not.
And shall it seem a meaning to this story yet remains untold,
Let yourself be made aware; you've yet to see the tale unfold.
poems, for me, have been a way to capture my errant feelings on paper so i can control them. it's truly bittersweet that i seem to be running out of inspiration.
