Hollow Likeness
Thou dream, perchance.
Thou fantasize; thou see that which thee truly desire.
Thou feel what many a great pens hath scratched,
the intrepid sensation of complete.
A sliver of meaning, more nigh than far,
and thine eyes open.
But what, prithee, do these wretched slits see?
Another dream, whence the possibility of dreams coming true exists?
Where waits no bottom in eager anticipation,
where force meddles not with hope?
Where flow words unhindered,
where exists naught that which thee cannot behold?
But lo, here comes hurtling down
the villainous hammer of destruction
turning into shards thy castle of glass,
laying waste upon thy dreams, crushed.
‘tis now empty, the world.
Reality jettisoned,
unto which thee had awoken,
only to wake up again?
By Nityaansh Parekh
Existence becomes the cork of life once you’ve felt everything. Let the suffocating soul breathe.
Inspired by Dead Poets Society,
Carpe Diem.
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