Why did I create this world?
With its torturous curiosities
Demented absences
Of a wholly degenerate
Splintering?
Was it alpha or omega?
This world that assails me
With tremendous furies:
The acid rain of bitter scorn,
Laced with Protean fogs of
Disillusionment.
The excessive furrowing
Of one’s essential
Uniqueness.
Where is this ‘soul’?
Supposedly conversing
Like a hard-won bridge
Between Scylla
& Charybdis?
To ask, is to dislocate
From one’s ineffable core.
Yet in moments like these,
Seized by uncontrollable
Spirits of Mercurius,
One is beholden to ponder
On the origins of it all;
One’s ‘worldview’,
The utterly indescribable
Quintessence of one’s subjectivity.
The ‘I’ that is only an ‘I’
In relation to ‘Thou’.
Where I am only an I
Sempiternally in the mirror
Of your annihilating eyes.
Where I die
And am forever reborn again
In the passing of a mere
Flicker of the stars,
In an overcast, moonless night sky.
