The Valley of Decision

There’s nothing more to write.

There’s nothing more to say.

Sailing off to the other-world

At the end of life

Is the only sweetness I can lend.

 

How reason has proven false

All that I loved.

And with that, blood flows through the valleys

Of the wine press.

Lay burden to bear

There were two things I desired.

I will find them when the ship sets sail.

For— You might call it pretentious

But I like writing complex poems.

It speaks what this mind conjures

In full breadth of its image.

 

Perhaps like music

It is loved for the repetitions.

That we can predict the next sequence of notes.

 

In my eye, I see great things

Landscapes and valleys.

I wish to choose language that speaks what is in me.

But, whatever I love, it is insufficient.

What I hate, it is regarded as priceless.

So, blood spills down the valleys

Because we mistake what is stone

With what is flesh.

 

I would love to fly away like a bird

Or hide away in the forests I love.

But, rather, I see the whole world wishes itself to change.

And if change it must,

Then men are the artifacts they worship.

For no knowledge can prove the foundations of love.

Yet, there it is for me to see and touch.

Rather, it takes much imagination to reason it away.

When I set sail, I would have already known.

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