Cycles of the Heart


We keep trying, as though hope endures, Yet the truth is cold, and love ensures. A spark that fades, a fleeting fight, tolerance steps in to dim the light. What once burned bright turns hollow, gray. An endless cycle we replay. Each soul, a wanderer, chasing bliss, yet all it leads to is the abyss. For I have seen, and I have known. The seeds of love, once brightly sown, bear fruits of pain, of silent decay, until the dream dissolves away.  The greats...Nietzsche, Einstein, Shakespeare... chose solitude, their path made clear. No time for folly, no space for ties, their minds soared free beneath the skies. So I stand, conviction pure, detached, resigned, and yet secure. Not bitter, not broken...just deeply aware of love’s illusions, the traps they ensnare. If you call this cynicism's art, then let it speak, for it’s my heart. For in this truth, I’ve found my peace. A quiet strength, a sweet release.

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