| Sunday, June 28, 2009 |
| In Long-sighted Conundrum |
In perpetual forgery their lasts,
A forte to win every task,
A frail feeling fosters falsification,
For irrelevance is an absconding demon.
There held no force to tap it all,
And so soon the color of the sky shall fall,
In unrealistic doom there exists,
A realistic reason to forbid.
Yet what seemed unjustified that day,
Was the apparent fall of the scorching May,
Yes, the rain did fail to give reason,
For the conundrum and heavy upheaval,
So there's no proof for dissatisfaction,
Or reason to feel any kind of agitation,
It seems the black sun shall never exist until end,
And until then there will be no one to offend... |
posted by bereaved vendetta @ 6:30 AM  |
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| Thursday, June 25, 2009 |
| When the dust settles down |
The pleasure will be redeemed,
When the dust settles down clean,
It's strange when the mist clears,
The feeling is one of heartwrenching fear,
What is perceived cannot be deemed,
What may seem is a collage of dreams,
The consequence is only from circumstance,
There's careful deception and a mere trance,
Understanding is reduced to mere glance,
Then what must follow is the clear air,
Giving you a chance to move ahead,
Yet, when the mist was there,
The destination is unseemingly there,
But the human mind shall always accept,
What you care to look and assimilate,
There's no color behind the peaks!
Then says an open mind,
Which stands against waging time,
"The hue of the earth's core shall entail,
What lies behind many such tales."
Yet, the age of acceptance shall fail to prevail,
Just as the warmth of the clear May. |
| posted by bereaved vendetta @ 10:27 AM |
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| Friday, June 19, 2009 |
| Blissful Blizzards and Fantastical Frost |
Failing to swim into the white snow,
Comes a deep feeling from below,
The white and silver trees outside,
Create blends of beauty in a mystic side,
The clear air fails to prevail,
In sudden upheaval the sky wails,
"Darling, run", she screams and cries,
I looked at her face, and tearful eyes,
Gripping her with might and power,
He ran through snow, wind and forest cover.
She cried and cried and her voice hovered,
Through streams, brooks, and empty bowers,
And then they were gone, like the rest of the fellows,
Remembering her today, my face turns mellow,
Beauty in peace, beauty in anguish she doled,
Into the hills and the enormous mountains folds,
Her face I will remember till blood runs cold,
Her howling wails and gentle whispers,
Her smiling face and tearful jitters,
Looking at a clear sky tonight,
I remember her in the mind,
And that violent stormy night,
Wondering where she must be now,
I flag myself in the pain of dearth,
Then a silent thought comes to mind,
"Who says she knew who was I?" |
| posted by bereaved vendetta @ 8:39 AM |
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| Thursday, June 18, 2009 |
| Consequential Coincidence |
Sometimes a decision can make,
Or end in a saddening fate,
Yet today it seems unabated,
And a persistent desire unsated
A dearth in time, unfettered,
Consequentially undone, unrendered.
Remember a time that stemmed the earth,
Remember a day that made your worth,
Remember a moment that made up for a world,
Remember who made it seem so simple,
Remember it was never so simple.
Perhaps, it’s better with things amiss,
With a clear sky comes no excuse to remiss.
Yet somethings seem irrational,
Illogical and definitely unintentional.
Was it a star of that mighty day?
Or the allure of an everlasting may??
No answers survive till date
For the circumstance, the lovely date.
Today, such questioning is irrelevant,
Yet the mind says innocence was existent
As hues of the future unfurl,
In tense reds and unfavoured whirl,
It seems strange, what happened,
Maybe for something eventful you yearned,
Or a serious greater purpose unheard,
For a future unmade, untold…. |
| posted by bereaved vendetta @ 10:52 AM |
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| Friday, June 12, 2009 |
| Gentle anguish in Infatuation |
They say it's the color of fall,
Of overhead burn and sprawl,
The human entity sublimes,
In supposed dearth and cries.
What is prevalent is irrelevant,
What is relevant is indeterminant.
The grey of the sky drops in dismay,
With sad thoughts of an enjoyable may.
In passion and obsession we overlook,
What could have been true and mistook.
Thus treading on a mirthful path,
Bombarded by unsteady deceptive craft.
Today, the world seems to hail,
A loving, broody thought prevails,
About a destiny seemingly unveiled,
Forging to keep distraught,
One does never own in thought,
Let's fail to see the past,
And move along at last......... |
| posted by bereaved vendetta @ 12:04 AM |
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| A strange medley of what I can give the world of my greatest possession, creative writing. |
| About Me |
|
Name: bereaved vendetta
About Me: Optically, subjectively, and figuratively: EQUIVALENT Focal plane....
See my complete profile
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