Envy is made by human desire.
It strokes our darkest dreams, the ones we hide,
our thunder-hearts
and takes them against us,
mounts them to a force we cannot hope to win against alone,
not without the granted hopes of Dreaming.
That is the loss of men:
the temptation of the secrets that we whisper to the moon,
the clink of coins, paid to the purse of Self
where we would hide our own twisted debauchery from the world.
I know better:
why can not I resist a thing
so common as Envy
for something so right for someone else?
Unless of course I'm right,
and it's totally, completely wrong....
"My empty-hearted star, my love!"
No comments:
Post a Comment