Reclusive Tendencies
The boketto begins, no one is to blame.
Your meraki has fallen from your work.
You’ve travelled in silence to keep from
screaming, this fanaa eats away like cancer.
You’ve never reached for any hand or smiled, yet
your futifaction glares back in gruesome hollowness.
Life’s become something more than you bargained for, you’ve
squandered away all your hopes, and your last dream is vacated
by grief. Once an oriflamme for misery now the only embrace
of comfort is sunshine. This adoxography placates your need to be heard
or accepted. Still, this Orphic is all you desire, you’re seldom
enthusiastic about some fancy mention of trivial wares, for your
eudaimonia cannot be bought or secured by some shallow
penchant. This genie won’t return her gift; one must first
recognize one’s despair to begin to love what keeps you
willfully alive. Death owes no promise to you, but living
with the imperishable hope of retrieving this lost legitimacy
is all that is required of this loathsome penance. You’ve lengthened
your mind to vast catharsis, and worrying about death only shortened your life.
- John Hardesty
©️1/23/2020
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