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Seeking

Cast into the physical,
a Sethian just looking for residuals.
In a sea of sheep, it’s hard to find any individuals.

Forbidden from the garden,
are the two with concealing garment.
For they had tasted knowledge and for that were abolished.

Oh Saklas, be thee foolish,
thinking Fate on your side is your true wish.
The prevalence of goodness is your cold dish.

Yet millions of years later,
the Demiurge is still a fuckin’ hater.
Still waitin’ on the end, but that’s a story for later.

To the rich few we cater,
bailing them out just to produce another failure.
Never asking, just obliging and waiting for the savior.

Between logic and insanity we reside,
of the rich and poor no greater divide.
He who will cross the Rubicon shall cast out the final lie.

Getting high on a whim,
both cursed and blessed by Djinn.
The struggle of salvation only found within,
but it’s much easier to just bask in sin.

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On Melancholia

‘Tiss a strange thing, is it not?

Being drawn into despair.

The timely sensation comes when one is most alone.

It is there to remind you of your vulnerabilities, weaknesses, mortality.

Yet it is the very thing that makes us fearless.

The emptiness, like the churning stomach in need of substance.

The resentment, a mocking voice within holds you prisoner.

A deranged captor tormenting the kept.

Reach out and touch vise; reach within and think thrice.

The low howl of the nightly wretch cry on.

The dull drums of deaths nigh sincerely sung.

A yearning for salvation is met with apathy.

As you once had turned your back on the world, so they in turn you.