Monday, 9 March 2015

The Chosen One's lament

How can there be no respite, no quarter,
For me, whom they chose for being able,
Why am I treated a pawn, fate’s martyr,
When they all beseech me remarkable.
Why, as if sailing through a ceaseless tide,
I am thrust, unwanting through storms of strife,
How can it be, although so much I ve tried,
My heart is still empty, devoid of life.
There’s no fighting the tangled web of fates,
My will was never mine to consider,
Like endless winter that never abates,
My heartfelt desires only hinder.
Since when did hewn heroes die from within,
My life is no different from a machine.

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