Dancing Candle Flame

Thoughts dissolve in a whirlpool of pathos.

Mine eyes they embrace the candle light.

Lost souls in agony they whisper.

Circling around the dancing fire.

The scent of vanilla a rainbow lake.

Memories of childhood, an icy crate.

This uncanny fate, those inverted years.

The melting wax, a soul of tears.

Candle in F

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Published in: on 22/09/2014 at 1:25 PM  Leave a Comment  

The Tragedy of Gift

The garden of divine beauty cannot be intruded. Only those who are gifted at birth may reside. Yet those who reside in the garden may not see her true beauty, for they have only ever lived within her presence. This curious child who wished to uncover her secrets, with wings he sored above the clouds. Yet when he appreciates her true precious form, too late to realise, for he is an abandoned being.

Perhaps if there is a parallel world where Adam and Eve did not steal the fruit of wisdom, we would both pity them, and yearn for them. If the gift of wisdom cannot coexist with the gift of beauty, must one walk a lone path towards the peak of the summit, where the throne of the übermensch sits? Yet I am only human, all too human, too human to be human. How this perverse desire for tragedy emerges, out of the dark desolate life of the genius. Yet how he yearns for the warmth of a heart, to enclose and render the despair all the more gentler. Beyond consciousness is a divided desire, a path into the abyss, from the void…

O! Who has gifted the child with those glorious wings? What evil laughter I hear from the stars, in the palace of wisdom. Schadenfreude is God’s favourite game, his favourite piece is the crystal of freedom.

– 22 September, a familiar time.
Published in: on 22/09/2014 at 12:01 PM  Leave a Comment