Sonnet of the Lost

Beating down bright upon me—oppressively, oh, the brute                                                                   Insouciance all-encompassing within and around                                                                        

The nothingness of nothing is the only absolute                                                                       

 Of all I’ve heard, the most beautiful—silence—deafening sound           

Solitude is what I seek, where there is only me                                                                    

 All impotently trudging towards death—though unaware                                                                               The meaning which they seek in the drudgery—absurdity!                                                                       The plod of the comatose—stumbling in a living nightmare

Meaning is lost in a world so bleak and cold                                                                    

Yet still they hold to hope—dead—dead—dead.                                                                   

Tales they know of misery and meaninglessness since times of old                                                          Yet still beauty in that foolishness I see, the merry melody of the misled

Burdened with sweet, bitter truth I am to die, free to feel the happy-hardened apathy

Liberate me, oh, callous cosmos for I embrace you in brotherhood, I am of you and you of me.