| Sunday, May 24, 2009 |
| A sea that died................ |
In the evening of a late day,
Was a thought about a dear May,
When the rain was weak,
But the air was meek,
It was a blue day then,
The roses blush in lament,
In a color they forge to bleed,
There's scent there's air everywhere,
Yet there's no one to bare.
It's strange Somethings just come and go,
They say it's life, but who should know?
Everything's transient, ephemeral, soft and cold,
Just takes a while for what's there to go.
A dull mist persists to stay,
It's gentle and painful today,
Yet it shall forever stay,
And remind me of a certain day. |
posted by bereaved vendetta @ 7:06 AM  |
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| Sunday, May 17, 2009 |
| The glaze and the sun. |
The sun shall forever stay,
The earth shrouds itself in a way,
The day turns into a graceful night,
The light turns into a dark sight,
Yet it's the most beautiful thought,
The black studded with silver stars,
And the gleam of the rich moonlight,
Shall forever make you say,
There was a time when it was there,
Yet now, in a dearth of what I bare,
The world is going by in a certain flair,
And I was standing somewhere there,
In an utter pandemonium and lost battle,
The courts cease in front of the mirror,
Everything fails to exist anymore,
And remember that's only for you and your,
The golden sky wraps you in itself,
Reminding you of a past that was there,
But the thought of the future shall always stay,
Until then, there will be begrudging dismay..... |
| posted by bereaved vendetta @ 10:11 AM |
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| Tuesday, May 5, 2009 |
| In the dearth of.... what? |
I was in a strange dilemma a few days ago. Was it a dearth of time, or a dearth of planning, permutation combination. Everyday is a product of intense action and consequent predicament. Action is essential to adjudicate the abilities of an individual. Let's waste a minute, or two, or maybe five for instance. It's just guilt, pure guilt, maybe after 10 minutes or maybe after 10 days. Yet the emotion surfaces.
Time is unchangeable, yet what we decide to feed into the moment can change. We stand bound by a strange feud, every moment, every hour. What's next, what was before? Anything new? I'm not sure. The chocolate melts against itself, pouring out of the saucer plate. Yes, it's reward, it's reward for sure, for some diligence I shared some day...
There's no chocolate on my plate today. It's dullening, it's breaking up. The hues crack, in their inability to blend, to collaborate. It marks the end, the end of weighed action.... The chocolate appears and fades again, into an illusion of its own.....
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| posted by bereaved vendetta @ 8:02 AM |
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| A strange medley of what I can give the world of my greatest possession, creative writing. |
| About Me |
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Name: bereaved vendetta
About Me: Optically, subjectively, and figuratively: EQUIVALENT Focal plane....
See my complete profile
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