Collecting dust
Destination nothingness
Trust to rust
Flushed down
A rabbit hole of illusions
Subliminal sewage
Where dreams meet the end
Flustered in distrust
With voids instead of stars
Black holes forming
With the emptiness of words
But they still whisper
How much they love it
In ways to appease the creator
As they smile
Thinking they have fooled the source
Unbeknownst to them
They just made things worst
Straying away from the singular
To reward the already over indulged egos
Equipped with so many resources
And of course the best of luck
Look at the masses rejoice
As they are even with each other
And at odds to whom wanted
The truest form of their love
Silence, that is all
But dreamers still have to dream
Even if they become nightmares
For their own phantom cause
Words only have merit
When they are made to not be forced
Down the throats of overfed endeavors
But that is life
Of course
There are no stars
Where they are needed the most
Just life
But of course
What else is there to do?
But keep dreaming
No matter how hard reality hits
It is up to the lonely spirit
To keep creating
While asking to be punched
Harder than ever before
In pain
The artist becomes more aspired
In a solitude of dreams
Just because…
Silence is not the end
But the inspiration
To become stronger
Beyond the silence
Against the forgotten
Entity beyond any reason at all
Things get boring
When they make too much sense
Dull and repetitive
In the same depth as shallow love
It was never about collecting
But recollecting
Who was there?
When emptiness
Needed something the most
Maybe someday
Someone will understand
Till then
Who knows?
Just being the truest of form
To self is all
And what does an ego do?
When there is nothing to be stroked
Who really knows?
I sure don't
Look at them all
Collecting dust
Oh, well
That is life but of course
Intentions, Unknown
Far beyond
Where they ever needed
To go before
Destination nothingness, that is all
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem