Wonder what my life has come to be
Disenchanted, I have accepted the
reality
White at one end and tan at other
Fiddling it with my fingers, do I want
to do this?
Flame is lit
The tip gets hold of the fire
Starts burning like the man seething in
anger
Yet still and solid at its base
Desperate measures for survival
Victim of fire
Crimson tip embraced by the ashy fume
Burns all the way along with my desires
The moment I kissed it
My whole body shuddered in silence
Plagued am I by those memories
I want to forget but I am unable to
The End
Until that comes by, I have to breathe
Another sick stick of madness is lit
This time there will be no shuddering
1 comment:
Sometimes words need not be thought of or constructed. They just seem to come by.
And in all its sonnet and poetic fusion, this post is a clarified reflection of the same.
From a single protagonist view in the beginning to a more complete view point of life from one end is presented. A very somber piece that successfully portrays the minimal angst engulfing the surrounding neutral emotions.
A literary delight but in essence drives me to this conclusion:
"The stick of madness won't send a shudder anymore which in effect means the soul is ready and armoured to take the hit. It has seen the worst of it. And whatever doesn't kill you, simply makes you stronger. So, at the end of the horizon a stronger self will be standing calmly holding the the dreams."
A positive subtle undertone.
Appreciate the article. From a completely naive viewpoint.
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