Poems by


a poem by Zharathustra

A thread of life made of hay
filled with knots, cruel be this fate
He came to life screaming out the rage
With which he was filled
Knowing at the moment of birth the pains
For him withheld
In his early years the boy knew a great darkness
That took away his smile
That showed to him the world’s harshness
At much too soon a time
Thus he grew to be a man filled with spite
Afflicted with the need to quench all light
He thought somber thoughts of which he had no gain
But to be left by those he loved to scream in vain
But when his loved ones came back to him
They swiftly chased away the memory of what had been
And so, he knew moments of brightness
And smiles of warmth
Made so much happier in contrast
With his former gloomy world
His heart swelled and flared like a sun, destined to die
In the end he knew no one would cry
That before death finally came
The darkness would come and seize him again
No one escapes their appointed fate
To fight it is futile brings only pain
Born to the shadows, a child of night
He fought for happiness but shadows are not made for light
And thus his fate ended- dark and cold
Whilst others have life threads made of gold
That ends with a pretty pearl
Whose life ends with a happy twirl.