Laying the whole of one's life
across the balance of time,
a search for meaning in a singular flicker,
somehow uniquely mine.
In this total derived without feeling,
this sum of life's moments laid bare;
reason itself is always found wanting,
just balance, rare...
Born into hands so infinitely cruel,
and mortal wounds inflicted before first breath;
a life crushed by a curse deliberate,
by a darkness more evil than death...
Pleading with time for solace,
some balm to bind fast these wounds;
knowing only life's empty promise,
a coldness beyond the tomb.
Rolling life's moment over,
and each still over again;
yet finding only instead of answers,
the life that never could have been.
Such bitter loss,
the deepest wound that haunts me as I go,
this weight of time's cruel toll –
its sting of cold irony,
pressed deep into my soul.
And so through this broken world I go,
numbed to this weight,
numbed to this infinite toll...
this poison to my soul.
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