Found Wandering

I wandered away from the great benevolence, Willfully trudging into the shadows of doubt. I peered into the core of the prosaic sun, Questioning its power, its perfect light. I cursed the moon for it’s lucid glow, Blaming it for my cause and confusion. I swallowed the pill of self-reliance, Deeming all great houses to have shoddy walls. I have allowed the fervor of my heart to succumb to apathy, Forsaking Venus on an isle of mistrust, for my pleasure alone. I am forlorn, by my own bitter hand, despite my once beautiful self, Regretting not what I have become, nor longing for what I once was. Salvation lies only in a brush with death, Or in the proof that Venus can be trusted. Anything less will only further certify that this world is based on desire alone. In which case: There is no hope, only Want. There is no love, only Lust. There is no soul, only Flesh. There is no god, only Theory. Take all you can; you’ll be dead soon.