Literature

I myself hate it, such excess in the end only prove to be trivial.
Why must they take all the fun out of it? 
Why can’t I enjoy something I want to feel passion towards?
Everyone’s going on to share their wisdom, leaving me in the dust.

Eyes drenched not in sorrow from the need of intellect, but in awe from wonder!
Hands grasping a sword with the blood of my enemies upon me!
My hair standing on it’s ends, not knowing what comes next.
Why can’t we just enjoy it without the pretense?

Longing for not the sword of war nor the scholar’s pen.
Instead, a quill; that of the most magnificent bird only in legends.
Written with ichor only of the most sanguine passion.

Does there have to be a meaning in everything?
Why must we murder, try to demonize a god?
I can no long partake in burning him at the stake, his head facing the Earth!

Perhaps these are words of wisdom,
Even so, why drain it of the love, the joy put into it?
Call me crazy, call me lazy, but never call me a fool! 
For what purpose are we to trudge through this drudgery? 

No longer can I wait! No longer can I bear patience!
I hate literature but I know no other way to speak my insanity,
It is not research, it is an adventure I want to last; an adventure I want to remember.
Maybe I’ll learn something; maybe not. Even so, I just want to enjoy it.

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