Utopia
Apr 30, 2024
Millions of years have passed,
before I was born,
and a hanging weight holds me down.
Tonnes of ego, heavy stones of aspirations,
I wish for flows that erode love,
muting desires and passions.
May there be utopia,
or at least a claim to it,
give me a glimmer.
The end of the tunnel has arrived,
but no unicorn stands there,
only a misty grey, foggy like a dream.
No singularity could erase neglect,
the absence of affection,
but utopia still awaits, like the glistening sun
