There is something inconsolable
about immortality the way it accelerates
the death of all that we hold dear.
There is something oppressive
about the sky when it remains too long unbroken.
There is such a thing as storms of necessity.
Our broken hearts are invaluable,
for it is only when we risk breach
that we can truly love.
We do not want happiness everlasting,
but a passion worthy of revolution.
Straight lines are indicative of death
and perfection is a waste
of a perfectly good personality.
This moment, full of unexpressed gratitude,
is not an intermission
it is and forever will be the truth.
This is also an edit from an older poem. I am extremely stressed at the moment. Something came up last minute and it is pulling my attention hence my distracted writing. I will probably have to rework anything I work on now due to choppiness but I am still getting a fe