#a pilgrimage to samsara

21 messages · Page 1 of 1 (latest)

elfin pagoda
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it’s believed that time holds styptic properties,
but we, humans, resort to desperation;
where our own blood is supposed to heal mental scars,
and where suffering stands as the ultimate mean of liberation.

yet, once the anguish washes away from your trembling hands,
you realise you’re the one who made up your own carnefice.
the one that wears your face upside down,
so naturally, the solution was deicide.

when we can’t find ourselves in our own reflections,
we abandon the world itself.
no matter if your body gushes or moans,
it’s always the absent to blame,
“amen”.

you always return to that same conclusion, that singular dream,
which could never be explained without reopening your wounds.
and you will do that anyways, are you afraid of salvation?
an infant that never saw light won’t see the darkest as grim.

denying humanity, returning to zero,
everything in order to differentiate yourself from you;
as it’s impossible to remember
at what point of time it felt like you exist.

you’re no hero, just a slave on strings you carved from your hair,
a myth of conjoined counciousnesses that writes itself just to be burnt:
o, ouroboros, you finally awakened,
so come forth, and devour yourself liturgically,
as your spirit wanders to another.

no place on earth offers comfort anymore,
and everything in you has burnt away.
so for the last time, you called out for the divine
expecting silence that reflects your abandoned heart.

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bearing a cross out of your bones,
until it fuses deeply into that meat.
faith never saved, all it ever was to you:
an instruction of how you should agonise.

you followed it blindly,
as you knew that you’ll survive in the end,
the apocryphal voice assured you,
yet your body refused to trust it anyways:

the crepuscule fades as screams wear off,
your pilgrimage has found a dead end;
save yourself, bring liberation against yourself,
the same freedom that mankind will eternally reject.

the child deep inside never stopped praying,
but it became petrified,
once it saw your face turn upside down:
the unheard confessional for a victim that’s the sinner.

unable to reconcile with your own limbs,
to who do they belong?
there’s not a cell in you that hasn't given up,
so listen to the empty choir as you keep-

choking on the silk-like hair that soaks because of your own tears,
just try to stargaze a little longer,
and maybe these dying sparks will reconcile with your fears?
once again, all you saw was yourself, wrongdoer:

you dig your own grave subconsciously,
without a coffin,
without a prayer;
all that's left is your visible ribcage
underneath that gaunt skin….

yet, voracity remains,
and your own returning flesh was never enough.

tiny mirageBOT
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@elfin pagoda has sent a notification! - @gilded sorrel @fiery smelt @shut socket @rapid oracle @still quarry @trim reef

elfin pagoda
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@nova crystal

nova crystal
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"you realise you're the one who made up your own carnefice.
the one that wears your face upside down"

"the child deep inside never stopped praying,
but it became petrified,
once it saw your face turn upside down"

it speaks beautifully, calm yet strong. I love how it concluded!!

somber spruce
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you’re no hero, just a slave on strings you carved from your hair

and

the concept of time holding styptic properties

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Beautiful exploration of the self worry of life and how people try to find hope through religion! Thoroughly enjoyed your poem

elfin pagoda
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@hoary epoch

hoary epoch
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I am not in a state to read and understand

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I will soon

elfin pagoda
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@glass isle

glass isle
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Speechless tbh

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Without a coffins
without a prayer

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Wow

odd moth
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@odd moth self ping for later

torn gazelle
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🙏

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Interesting work

hot void
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I like it