My Nemesis Is My Soul.
It escapes me, frustrates me. I want it, crave it, but it always flees. It is my nemesis and my ally, an antithesis of all I am and yet still a mirror. A contradiction of my soul.
I demand from it with questions, yet know they will go unanswered. What is my purpose; why am I here; how can I make it better?
Go to Hell.
Why am I beleaguered by such torments? Why, when my nature screams out for something else completely? Do I have no choice in this venture? No choice… or no chance?
I thrust forward laughter but my heart grows tired, exhausted by the daily toils of all it must face. Part of me knows this is a fool’s quest, and yet I go on, forever forward, determined not to fall as so many others have before me.
There is something within me that can win, but it knows not how. It fights all adversaries, but fails to move forward, grows weary in its stagnancy. Within time a pale wind will fell it, no longer strong enough to raise a defense. I fear this time.
Fear brings strength, however; strength to fight, to refute the unavoidable.
But is it so unavoidable? Why can I not win? Am I not the same man I once was? The poet warrior staring down all adversity, all negativity, all logic which screamed what I have already achieved was impossible?
I am he. The eye of the maelstrom, the mirror within a mirror, battling more within myself than ever without.
There is one course, one way through the canyon of failure which beckons me. Beyond the path of shattered dreams lies more pain, more heartache then ever realized, and yet it still remains beauteous and irresistible. For to have one I need the other, there is no option.
To reach the dream I must become the nightmare, drawing all I fear into me like embracing poison. Pain teaches more than happiness, and I have learned well, but am still a novice.
Cry not for dreams unrealized, cry for dreams never attempted.
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Heartache
Love is the most devastating thing mankind possesses.
It is stronger than bombs and more manipulative than guns. It can create the most incredible frescoes, or tear apart the mind which would have otherwise painted them. In a breath it can express joy, but in a scream it might convey anguish.
Why were we ever blessed with this curse? What act in our past ever convicted us to such wretched wonder?
Nobody ever told me being human would be so hard.
How could two people care so much they seem to join souls, and then tear that bond asunder? How could people who profess to adore one another turn into enemies? Does that love die so simply, or does it merely transform into another beast; a snapping, snarling creature which will never be satisfied until its foe is vanquished?
I do not like that world.
How could something so wondrous become so acidic, making the strongest man crumple like paper before its wrath? I have suffered that pain and never want to stand against it again, yet with every breath I am open to it, every blink of the eye brings me closer to the possibility it might happen again. Why would I do this? Why would I lower my defenses so much that I might be torn to shreds?
Because that is life, the light which feeds the soul, and without it there is only ash and dust.
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