In Search of Beauty [Part I]
He hated the world So much That he hated himself He despised the world So much That he became the world…
I
He was not born to be a writer His soul was simply broken into pieces, like the alphabets
And so he writes hoping that he might know who he was or who he is that as he puts back the pieces of his soul he might form a word or a name to call himself
It is true that one may find wisdom when one is lost but it is also true that one can be lost forever
He writes under the light of the full moon, re-creating beauty with a quill, parchment, and tears while she is asleep, dreaming the wildest dreams perhaps of some far-away kingdom catching butterflies and the whole world sleeps with her
Indeed, he was not born to be a writer He was only broken into one.
I
He was not born to be a writer His soul was simply broken into pieces, like the alphabets
And so he writes hoping that he might know who he was or who he is that as he puts back the pieces of his soul he might form a word or a name to call himself
It is true that one may find wisdom when one is lost but it is also true that one can be lost forever
He writes under the light of the full moon, re-creating beauty with a quill, parchment, and tears while she is asleep, dreaming the wildest dreams perhaps of some far-away kingdom catching butterflies and the whole world sleeps with her
Indeed, he was not born to be a writer He was only broken into one.