Monday, February 22, 2016
I cannot give to anyone, but they must give to me,
For the players of life shall guarantee their success.
I shall eat from the plate of gold and silver,
Embark on a voyage of delights and irony.
I have to be fuelled by my desires, the lusty weathers,
Cruel properties have been attributed to my soul.
It is the wisdom I lack, the knowledge I hate,
Forever the vortices rotate my head in joys of hardness.
For the force of a thousand nights cannot contain
The darkness that is within my soul.
I want the food on my plate, the gold to hear and sing,
Knowing fruits of the heaven, but enabling the joys
To hearten the keep of my limbs.
These limbs need to be freed from crucifixion,
I decay and detract from the devil,
As I lie on lice and loud light of evil stature,
A start into the stars, where the night is a pudding.
My vacuum is filled, my abyss is joined,
And my hell is confirmed according to the wishes
Of a Higher Authority.
Topic(s) of this poem: destiny,fate