Where did all the Passion go?

O night of days you are swift to come and all of your misery with you! O beautiful, wretched being how I long for you and regret! How I mourn and hope!

This is more to myself than to anyone else, as for what I feel I see towards others I find as a reflection of myself.

Oh! what anguish King Solomon must have had when he cried "Vanity of vanities". An anguish which I have not known. But an anguish brews inside me which tells me things of all sorts, of myself, of others, and of Man itself.

To all dearly I will try to tell that which cannot be expressed, for true love as well has hatred of the heart will never be fully expressed. No action will satisfy our souls, and no action will show our souls full satisfaction. Where do we look in a time of anguish, where we feel how it must feel to live in the moment before our very own souls burst?

I weep and I weep and I weep, knowing that I do so in vain,
Knowing that I will never express what I do not have.

Do I hope for light so that I may show it? If so I will never embrace it. Because the desire to be known and acclaimed is a fire which burns any "enlightenment" into the ashes of pride.

Do I listen more to understand, or simply to find something relevant to say? And how painful it is to be praised! Such a dart which cuts me to the heart, in which I find the satanic desire to be acclaimed and praised.

And I see all too much of this, of this false good which wants to take the place of what is good. O Vanity! O fraudulent hopes of which my heart is guilty!

O people I love with a love which will never be expressed but by death, O intelligent people, why waste your talent by squandering it in hatred? By scoffing and causing pain? By rousing and by jesting, and by displaying your knowledge in a hateful way?

O heart which dispenses these thoughts and hopes, from where does the deepest intent come?

reply to post by backcase


Sending my love and respect for a fellow intellectual with peace at mind

reply to post by FreeThinkerbychoice


my lamentations come from a good place.