when in times of joy
we see the pain increased
what say we then to basic prospects
when winter's wind blisters,
chills a warm heart
how can we distinguish between
two offers of love
i long for an eitheror
i long to feel discomfort when i cough
and sadness when a close friend dies
would that we could be the proper judges
and banish all the inconsistencies
from a weeping earth
and she
weeps
loudly
and louder grows the sound of our petitions
every day
i feel inside a tiny warmth
quietly persisting
nearly imperceptible
yet just enough to warrant notice
and perhaps enough to strike away
the
vast
confusion
but no
requesting what is sensible and sweet
can only lead us straight to controversial clouds
that sink upon the frozen land
and spread their foggy essence all around
i long for something logical
a brutal method for extrapolating all my
existential doubt
and returning it directly to myself
as something purely rational
wrapped in a box with a little bow
what say we now aside from how naturally
cold
it
is
and how explicitly
we
all
shall
die
.
.
.
unless a certain flame continues burning
nemo sum
nemo sum
