To Become Itself
To have emotions but be in dim light,
To be stubborn yet subtle in life,
A return is asked by the one who sent.
I am perfect so call me sane and not insane,
This meaning flavours the past and its agents
Like the chef''s knife cutting the sauce,
Food is for my stomach churning as long as living,
To be a letter I must be a writer of words too livid.
When I see the roaring heights of a mountain
I seek a sale for the eyes and my food returns
So that fools extinguish their business
For the evil has not won quite yet.
This is painful that divides the special relation,
Towards the eye a vessel is sailing,
Hopes are here detailed like the plague
Or even the Black Death,
Its history steeped in misery of the winning
And miserable losing.
I need to succeed at this crippling sport
Called life or living.
The suffering joins with special nature
To become itself.
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