Existentialism
By R. Cary
A withering venture of exhaustion of my soul into waking nightmares as a living comedy
Dante would fear; the shaking, the rattling only pain I hear depressing my mind into an
Emotionless gaze staring into an abyss no human has perceived since leaving centuries of
Building to my grave of Sorgen’s despair; not a choice nor a solution can rise my conscious
Beyond hauntings of battled fears never conceived in reality as I am lost in reflections disturbing
Bourdain in his grave, with acts of destruction plaguing my body, imagery unrelenting pulsing
Beneath my skin as hope and faith live in the realm of the white witch casting me, holding me
To my pain, as a story is told; the Greeks tragedy implore a Greco-Roman hold tightening the
Pains of my breaths, as my existential existence ends in the darkness its phenomenology
Entails; a being in nothingness, Jean Paul’s story being told just like before nothing is new,
Just humans being humans, an experience I no longer know
End
Existentialism
By R. Cary
Copyright 2020
Poetry & Prose By R. Cary 