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Poetry News Post #5679

I come, I go.

Written by: Druid Athelas Na'Oak
Date: Saturday, June 5th, 2021
Addressed to: Everyone


I come, I go,
I never seem to leave though.

Here, Athelas.
There, Vengeance.
Elsewhere, Persistence.

An infinite existence.

So many worlds,
so many names.
None, are games!

Each it's own reason.
Each it's own rhyme.
Each, a lesson in time.

Immortality. Is! My! Crime!

A being spread thin,
between now and then.
A multiverse it's skin.

And turmoil within.

Delicate balance,
of love and malice.
Never in absence,
of brimming chalice.

Yet grace of gods,
is not God's grace.
When many are one,
and act like None.

Lifetimes of screaming,
while others are sleeping.
Idiots dreaming
in cycles of bleeding.

Prisoners, of their own keeping.

Freedom of mind,
is a painful grind.
Notoriously, unkind.

Not alone, yet lonely.
This path for mortals only.
As Time teaches slowly.

So I walk the line between,
Divine and Damned it seem.
Never to see The Garden green.

But! With conscience clean.

Not pointlessly pointed, nor carelessly caring.
Not selfishly sharing, nor cowardly daring.
Not truthfully lying, nor stagnant progressing.

I'm clean!
Of both Red and Green!
And every colour you can scream!

I am what I am.
Both god and man!
Within Cycles I stand.
Diminished and Grand.

This clarity of thought,
not easily wrought.
Painfully bought!
With lessons long, and short.

I come ... I go.
I never leave though.


Penned by my hand on the 15th of Valnuary, in the year 860 AF.


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Poetry News Post #5679

I come, I go.

Written by: Druid Athelas Na'Oak
Date: Saturday, June 5th, 2021
Addressed to: Everyone


I come, I go,
I never seem to leave though.

Here, Athelas.
There, Vengeance.
Elsewhere, Persistence.

An infinite existence.

So many worlds,
so many names.
None, are games!

Each it's own reason.
Each it's own rhyme.
Each, a lesson in time.

Immortality. Is! My! Crime!

A being spread thin,
between now and then.
A multiverse it's skin.

And turmoil within.

Delicate balance,
of love and malice.
Never in absence,
of brimming chalice.

Yet grace of gods,
is not God's grace.
When many are one,
and act like None.

Lifetimes of screaming,
while others are sleeping.
Idiots dreaming
in cycles of bleeding.

Prisoners, of their own keeping.

Freedom of mind,
is a painful grind.
Notoriously, unkind.

Not alone, yet lonely.
This path for mortals only.
As Time teaches slowly.

So I walk the line between,
Divine and Damned it seem.
Never to see The Garden green.

But! With conscience clean.

Not pointlessly pointed, nor carelessly caring.
Not selfishly sharing, nor cowardly daring.
Not truthfully lying, nor stagnant progressing.

I'm clean!
Of both Red and Green!
And every colour you can scream!

I am what I am.
Both god and man!
Within Cycles I stand.
Diminished and Grand.

This clarity of thought,
not easily wrought.
Painfully bought!
With lessons long, and short.

I come ... I go.
I never leave though.


Penned by my hand on the 15th of Valnuary, in the year 860 AF.


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