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Dedicated to E.A.Poe, the man whose writing inspired this. |
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Mystery, grotesque and fanciful,
entices my very heart and soul.
Curiosity flows through my veins,
never to be undone.
When my curiosity is begun,
nothing can feed its hunger
but a mischevious glance at
that which gave it birth.
Might I give my soul
that which it longs for so desperately?
To understand that which
cannot be understood.
To see what which
cannot be seen.
To grasp that which
cannot be grasped.
To find that which cannot
and does not wish to be found.
I say, no, and that I would
much rather let that desparity
and hunger grow
until nothing is out of my reach.
The very essence of that which
palpetates through my longing veins
will push me forth, bringing me,
my flesh and soul,
to the realization and epiphany
of understanding which,
for so long, I desired to gain.
And once it is found,
understood,
seen, and grasped,
my soul shall find peace,
my blood shall ceace flowing,
my mind shall be at rest.
My life's very purpose
will be complete, and thus,
I shall die
with no regrets.
None that can be named,
found,
understood,
seen, or grasped.
 Silent_Melancholy_Enigma · Thu May 01, 2008 @ 12:28am · 0 Comments |
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