The Sacrifice

A poem

“These fragments I have shored against my ruins.”

The waste land, T.S. Eliot

illustration of the image on Exekias’s vase

You are tired of your job, and your life
You no longer endure your ambitions

Every breath feels like a sigh
Every sight as a stroke
Cracking a mirror.

What’s distress doing to you?
Why are you wet with blue sweat drops
Careful listening to barks and howls
As if you can get those words’ meanings?

Thoughts may deceive the world
So you drink, so you smoke
So you assume the ruined tradition
Trying to deny your broken portrait

Yet, you don’t feel well, but successful
As at least you believe
You are an interesting person
And that is another reason to damn you
To think you are a strong
Member of your own enemies

And your integrity
Is no more than a payment to deserve
The victory over yourself.

© Samuel Cracia