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Memoirs for Solace
by Kathmandu

previous entry: I was asked if I am OK.

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In Vain

06/09/2011

It was called 'in vain'.

Not of vanity, in self loving
Or egotism.
But meant of worthless engagement.
Witless endeavor. Purposeless, and void.
To set oneself at a task that is fruitless.
As if to pour water into desert sands
When lips are parched with thirst.

To fly at reason and continue to strive
For what task a common man would cringe
Carry a weight that breaks your bones.
Suffer a longing with no respite.
Drink, but be not quenched.
Fall into a blind depth with no way out.
Drawn into a vortex that sucks out your breath
As daunting as unrequited love.

I would rather suffer the blast furnace of rejection
Than never take the chance.

When in all that, what sets apart vain failure
And grapples at the thinnest thread of hope
When a thousand-to-one is still a chance

It is the indomitable will for which those who hope
Which separates those whose burning will
And mortality becomes immortal,
When one who is common
Overcomes withering odds.


previous entry: I was asked if I am OK.

next entry: Home No More

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