Saturday, March 12, 2011


You explored and rummaged,
Piles and mounds, of dirt and rubble.
Of lies and deception, and of truth and tales.

Where did you lose that perspicacity?
When was it that all your grey cells evaporated?
Wasn't it enough wading recurrently through the swamp?

But the island of spring in all that mist seemed enticing.
The mere notion of a blissful swim and subsequent repose.
A chance de novo, a shot, hope and a prayer.

And you jumped into the realm of pretense.
Airy and dense, thrilling and mesmerizing.
Just smiled and died a thousand deaths.

You stared them into a quiver and a tumult.
The Pinkdom was all at merry unease and inquietude.
Till the very same old grey seeped in, sure standstill.

A seism, alarm bells, and trepidation.
The island of spring now seems vicious and malevolent.
Mercenaries, pirates, pillagers, narrow characters.

You disintegrate and weepingly lament the carnage.
Unvarying conduct and overlooking of premonitions.
For them divinity intervenes in perpetuum.

Tolerance is not a trait you're endowed with.
Untrammeled are the actions of this self.
Attempt at comprehending your desires.

Observe and cognize, till the skies are pink again.
Applaud the TLC and the regard before it pales.
Shrug it all off just now and later dissolve in the rain.

The dwarfy and precarious, stand tall and resolute.

No comments:

Post a Comment