AI-powered
podcast player
Listen to all your favourite podcasts with AI-powered features
The Birthplace of Thought
i would say poetry exists on the border between the dream and the fully articulate wakefulness. And so you can think about that with regard to this poem, a cation of one in despair. So a god has snatched from me. All my all in the curse and rack of destiny. Nothing but revenge is left to me on myself. Revenge i'll proudly wreak on that being that enthroned lord. Make my strength a patchwork of what's weak. Leave my better self without reward.