poetry
These are old journal/poem entries from when I was 13. They are for me for safekeeping but I don't mind if others read. These are not reflections of what is currently going on with me so please don't report.
Poetry. The worlds of the past have been lost through the years. The eternal heartbreak etched on paper, the symphony of death and romance the children yearn to understand. They are travelers of the past, their lust for knowledge and understanding overpowering every sense in their bodies. The pleasantries of falling off the edge and diving into a world that has been created for them, a world long gone. Creeping down streets accompanying the souls of the dead. Seeing life from a new, more refreshed standpoint.
Oh, how the world quakes at the unknown yet searches for it not. The elders laze in their falsified knowledge. Plagiarized for all to blindly follow. The greatest among us are long gone and the era of the sheep has risen. Be unafraid my love for death may strike you at any point. Seek knowledge none can carry, be the receiver, and stay woke everlastingly. Else the sh may waft upon you like disease and kiss you upon your head as you rest allowing you eternal sleep.
The ethereal sounds of wisdom and romance are tunes that strum the strings of destiny. Destiny for me to live a life full of love and smiles, the warm burn of the sun cast above my head. Do me this one justice and allow my head to rest in peace along with the lavenders. The smell of moist grass implored my tranquility. A faint slime rested upon my cheeks that I may never frown again. Death is a child pure of heart, life grows in its wake, and there is no need for fear. Take its hand soft and smooth and walk along the forest path into your eternal home. Whether that may be alone or with the soul of a past lover. Wave your escort goodbye in good means and let its presence fade away to the next traveler's soul.
We are of a society that has been molded into nothing more than a heavily gatekept aesthetic. Take me away from the toxicity of poetry, let your words shield me from all that means harm. The gentle hum of your voice guides me to create my own story. Create my own world when I am dissatisfied with the one I was given I shall take the creations of your descendants and implement them into my life. I have only the power to implore society to heed it, nothing more. Rest now dear poetry your legacy is in good hands, the hands of your decadent children.
