Burns
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2.12.2015 г., 12:37 ч.

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  Поезия » Друга
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I'd rather be the liver of Prometheus
than live in this illusion of deliverance
The more you know, the more you're faced with ignorance
and ignorance defeats you with experience
 
I'd rather be the wings of Icarus
and know the smell of burning feathers
than have a tomb stone like the one of Sisyphus
no longer strong to push it from the nether

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  • Thanks, Symbol... Now that you said that, the smell of burning feathers reminds me of a sensation you get when you do something you really like or enjoy; it may make you feel free but there is always a price to pay... Maybe the things we love the most end up killing us... but isn't that a good ending then?
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