Posted: June 27, 2016 in Melancholy, Poetry

“Nought’s had, all’s spent,

Where our desire is got without content”

Thunder strikes and the worlds twirl

And with each passing day our hearts swell

‘Till the final knell when all mercilessly bursts

And our mortal dark hearts taint even our battered vests

When pain and anguish finally collide,

Harbingers of the awaited torment on the reaper’s fabled ride

“All is vanity!” so cried the wise man of old

with these few words, my whole life he foretold




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