Fri, 03/30/2018 - 23:16 -- puffin

This fire is all-consuming;
It burns with such alarming progress
That I almost fear its present course.
This desire is fuming;
It urges me to exhaust and agress
Until I have a result I may endorse.

It's trying, this destruction.
My edifice has been torn asunder.
From nothing, I crafted this construction,
Only to have aristocrats pull it under.

It's frustrating to tears;
It's a meriocracy only to inheritors.
I may spend years carving my chapel,
Making it sturdy out of toothpicks alone.
But the strongest twig can't grappel
With the fortress forged of stone,
Made by a wealthy competitor
Awash with resources from his earliest years.

These efforts feel vain,
But there isn't time to abstain.
I've built my own bricks,
So now I'll work twice as quick.
I'll chase your advantaged tail,
I'll make everything to my avail.

Rejoice at your leisure.
I'll catch up quick enough to give you a seizure.

How bitter I am;
How envious of me.
I shouldn't give a damn,
But my worse nature disagrees.

It pushes me forward.
It keeps me working all night long.
It keeps me anchored,
I wonder if it's really wrong.

Surely it must be;
I'm laboring in anger.
It doesn't take a genius to foresee
That my benevolence is in danger.

But I'm stuck in my spite.
I can't move past it.
Even if I'm not exactly alright,
I can get by with my counterfeit.


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