Amor Fati (An existential exhaustion).
weary from the search and the struggle—
clear words spoken, trouble for those
that trim patience with primed presentations,
turning ever with speechless murmurs;
(I slept to forget, and wasted a day of summer);
perhaps it’s fine, that I’m no winner—
I burn hands and wake late, slave to the
firm fate that spins undone, caged and restless;
rather fighting than satiated, yet situated
weary in the thick, sick with them both:
amor fati, I so seldom say.