Torn Between Two Worlds

Life is cyclical, infinite, and ceaseless, 

Much like the fabled serpent,

Ruler of the deep, Jörmungandr, 

Swallowing his own tail,

Scarred scales shimmering, 

A metaphor for the wheel of time. 

Our minds are fluid,

Inhabiting countless 

Co-consciousnesses, 

A duality of identity, 

Bursting forth in confusion,

Lifelines branching and coiling, 

A twisted mass of roots. 

Veins thread through the belly of the soil, 

Bleeding life into the Earth, 

As humanity dies in small ways,

Awareness spreading, consuming, 

The choice to live 

Becoming a mathematical equation.

True power does not lie 

In the palms of the Gods, 

But rather in mortal hands, 

The power to choose one's fate, 

A superficial destiny, 

Depriving the universe of pleasure, 

Altering the ticking hand of time, 

Unraveled, unbound. 

Are we more than carbon atoms, 

Fused and bound in tandem? 

Or are we merely ashes cast upon the gale, 

Each particle fused with desire, 

A memory lost in time, 

Floating aimlessly, searching for silence, 

Like a Sprite drifting 

On the doorstep of their own demise. 

We tether ourselves to corporal flesh, 

Through the intimacy of a partner’s presence, 

Fingers threaded,

Through the hair of corrupted lust, 

A moss carpet gracing our steps, 

Relieving the burden of breathing life’s bitter air.