Melancholia

Say, Life, If I die in love, Will it be enough a cause To have my soul saved From your grip? You fooled me into believing in you You showed me only the pleasures that you give Without ever telling me That they are false and temporal That accompanying them Are your thorns Always here, ready to prick each and every corner Of my whole being! The existence you give is false, it moves from its peak To a state of rot From which Death swallows it As if it were a piece of fresh meat And Death itself, a hungry lion! The love you pretend to be made up of does not exist It is meant to adorn your cause That of allowing you to be as you probably Feel bored And need to see us, frail souls, suffer To feel pleased in your ego! The materialistic side that makes you up Is futile! Souls need it not Though they realize it not, Heavily bent on pleasing their needs and their comforts As ruled they are by these, Having forgotten the essence of life as it should be! The pain you blow over us Sneers at us and invades us Mocking us with its putrid heart Each time our tears run down our cheeks As if they were blood oozing out of our souls! The lack of morality, the non respect of the pure The lack of virtue, the non acknowledgement of that which is true Pray, life, In all you are more than a burden And we souls Are trapped in your midst! Why, it has been a while since I have been getting bored I am no more a child, ready to laugh at each of your pretentious jokes I am a more a teenager, easily duped by that which you tempt me with I am now wise And in my wisdom I rule you as being false, Life! Yet, your rules stipulate that once we play your games We are to play till the end As leaving in the middle will imply disrespecting you! Pray, Life Tell me, If I die in love Will it be enough a cause To have my soul saved From your grip? 28th April 2019