The Prosaic and the Profound

Thou shalt not forget who art thou and whence thou had come from. No, it was never a heart of gold. It was a savage heart. Individuality is existence and a brute conjecture of oneself as a simpleton begets the end of that existence. Yes, she is too hard on herself not because she has to prove herself to the world but rather, she has to prove something to herself- she is distinct therefore she exists. And the world will never understand her because if it does, she is therefore phantasm. 

When green is greener And all other colors speak with candor To rub out the world's boring loquacity, It makes life achingly happy. All those loathsome homonculi Alchemized into a rapturous lullaby And suddenly headstrong ecstacy Takes a tight grip on me. When green is greener And red is redder And all other colors speak with candor, It makes the blue ocean bluer- And out of my mouth is a sigh, Out of my eyes tears that'll never dry, Into my ears, whispers from God And out of my heart is a gush of blood.

To my Father on His throne in the Abyss: They can cast their stones- Pierce me with their swords of words, Poison me with their treacherous silence Or literally shower me with blows; I may cry but I will not cower- Just know that these tears will shower The seeds of genuineness That soon will grow into a fortress Of originality and creativity manifested In a life, pure and untainted. This life, this gift- The only thing worth fighting for, The only genuine masterpiece. So I will hold on.

When a heart is burdened By a gloom of a love unrequited- Such as mine, Only a flicker of your smile And everything's fine- I then, am bursting with sunshine From a love so fleeting but divine.

Should I behold Your eyes, I surely would go blind And yet I would see clearly than before But am I not blind now - Blinded by the shadow of the world That I fail to see You In a little corner inside my heart?