From to Till

Artist: yulia_bas
        (Source: Instagram)

The race of we, the race of lost
In a brims of burns of sun and we
as the minds are absolute phrase
and words seeps in solitude 
for the war within, for the denial;
Far the war would be 
Farer would be the death and its trial.

What is left to write is not soothing
eventually, will it be not scarce?
To the limitations of same minds,
sheathed upto trembled around
extent of ‘only so much’ is a myth
and will it be not frowned the then?
To the extent of distinction
To the war of farer that comes with.

Certainly, rage of cries would befall
amid the walls hiding place will be
so the boundaries, and the hatred of being
As, just as maternity of love and solace
or solitude?

To the fact of stories that everyone has
and rejecting the idea of seeing through:
Let i hold a glads of wine
Where there would be me and my whine
and the solace, the then will be despair
Alike you, my darling, alike disappear
You – as i claim, it’s us
And the warning signs means nothing, thus:
I go searching for me and me
Where the facts would lay naked
till the sorrow i sing of let it be
or the overwhelming limitations of decade.

However, the longings doesn’t lasts
so, the despair and rejected theories –
I once tried to bathe in Kantian Ethics
just as…the longings eventually told the side of his stories.

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I write what i see, and feel what i breathe. Poetics, Realism is what i bathe in. Hope do i not that you see my words than just read?

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