The Failing God (On Poetry)

Illustration by Olag Illustration

It floods, it creeps, it burns and reeks
Within the scorching blood it weeps
Of pasts, tomorrows, and days afar;
Flaming flames to feeble stars.

It seeks, it bleeds, it kills and feeds
Upon such days, regretted deeds:
I shut them through and through in vein,
Pouring pain upon my pain.

Hurting to heal I happily burn
The heart I hope to yearn and learn
Forging words, the sons of broil
Of beauties and evils that toil and coil.

If words be eternal, I am a god,
Who failed at endings forever flawed.
I, the poet whose name shall long be stained
Shall seem the gleam of suns be drained.


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