Pessimistic Formlessness

Rods of sloth sleep over roofs of dream that see, Immovable are they as they seem to be, An ideal drop falls but turns vapour, Unbeknownst to the soul that it turns cheaper, A tree of life possess many branches of a destiny's road, Climb but beware do not sit for the talk to go abroad, Sitting just fractures and burns the branch as an ineffectual ash, Doubtlessly you fall and wither before the crash, These lazy rods and that catastrophic relaxation to talk, Are merely the projections of a subdued mind which is getting stalk, Not by an animal but by a lice of doubt, Listen carefully before you always open to give an irrational shout, More than an acid there is something more corrosive, It dwells as it creates an abyss which is wholly pervasive, A curse that corrodes existentialism, Through ages the plaque that creates this plague is known as pessimism.