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Under the mystical veil of night, where stars whisper ancient secrets,
I feel my failure intensely, as if it were a vital organ,
Birthed by merciless gods, growing from the side of my head.
You can't hide it with a hat, and I can no longer sleep on that side, it's so tender and raw.
I was not faithful enough to carry this celestial burden up the mountain.
When I took my vows at nineteen,
I had no inkling that the gods wielded such cruelty.
Fear molds obedient servants, while courage is a grand illusion.
When I awoke, I wasn't awake enough to truly see.
Beneath the shade of whispering pines, I am enshrouded in a mantle of melancholy,
Each thought cascading like a dark river through the labyrinth of my mind,
An endless tale of failures and unfulfilled desires,
A cosmic dance of pain and shattered hopes.
I feel my failure throbbing in sync with the beat of my heart,
An invisible organ, yet ever-present, sculpted by gods too harsh.
I cannot hide it, nor soften its sting,
It is part of me, an indelible chapter of my unpolished story.
Often, I ponder whether I was ever strong enough,
If my vows bore any true weight,
Or if I was merely a servant to fear,
A deceitful soul, searching for courage in the shadows of misplaced dreams.
Under the starry canopy, I lose myself in a sea of thoughts,
Each star a distant memory of what I could have been,
A reflection of all my failures and dreams,
A universe of possible realities, all woven into the fabric of my story.
When I awoke, the harshness of reality cut deep,
I was not awake enough to face its unyielding truths,
But in this twilight of semi-consciousness,
I discovered a strange beauty, a bittersweet melancholy,
That defines my existence, granting me the strength to continue.
For under the mystical veil of night, within the whispering pines,
I find solace in the depths of my own thoughts,
A painter of dreams, a weaver of worlds,
In an eternal ballet of failures and hopes,
I am, simply, and profoundly, myself.
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