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Dirge of the SwanIn a land long forgotten by history books, a lonely nomad roamed mountains and forests, driven away from his home long ago by the cruel hand of fate. He travelled through towns, sleeping under bridges and in barbicans, for he had been driven penniless and was mistreated by the people of his town. The cruelty of those he called his fellows tore away at his generosity and amiable nature until it was as tattered as the rags he wore, his fragile armour against the winds and rain. Before long, he had lost all heart and faith in the towns and cities of men and went along his way.
The forests of the island he wandered were kinder to him. The towering oak and pine trees gave him firewood to burn and fruits to eat. The animals of the forest kept a respectful distance from him and never taunted him for his unshaven face or his tattered clothes. He was never pitied by them and he never had to dance for his food or humiliate himself for a few copper pennies. The warbling of the birds in their bran
In the Arms of Life lies Death, for Death is Life(Warning: This is a 2576 word poem. Its religious/philosophical. And its a dark themed deviation. Read at your own risk)
Tra le braccia della Morte è vita, perché la vita è la morte
(In the Arms of Death lies Life, For Life is Death)
To begin this dialogue between the aforementioned realisms
Would be to indulge in the inevitable preexistence of a blind entity
That is life laughing its ugly head through the carnival of the ancient mariner;
Blinded by futility, drunk on satire, ecstasy of the divine comedy consuming its mind
Since that is what occurs to those for whom life is a whore, a prostitute to be kept at hands bay
Indulging with caution, progressing in steps of meager but notable strides
For that was what the drifter thought...
He blinded, deafened, his mind darkened by opiates of disheartening disarray
The existence of a shallow palindrome confusedly guiding the purposeless course through the shreds
Of an engraved torture - eternal life