Foretold by misread fate
Culminates my residual
Sublunary awe of late.
Junipers of this fairyland
How diverge, converge,
Lilac of scents transcend
Your imitations surge.
So fervent is passion
To stroll untrodden leas,
The hopes of intervention
Deadens me in pleas.
Solemn sans the caress
Fraying, failing on cross,
All so desolate and as
Flowerless as a moss.
Hence even so I espy
Faces to mould, manifold,
Lest unbeknownst how I
To you shall be sold.
11 comments:
such loss and emptyness...
Very insightful, Shadow.
Hence even so I espy
Faces to mould, manifold,
Lest unbeknownst how I
To you shall be sold.
nice one
Oh just that bit? =|
You tell so well and wisely
Painful resignation and exhibition, I dare not purchase...
I loved your comment in my blog. Thanks for coming by...I'd need a second visit , though to feel more at awe!
;)
This is goody goody , the whole blog-I mean
hey thanks for stopping by my blog!
you write really good....
To move from passion--real feeling, active giving, genuine being--to being sold is to die, really. This is powerful.
You express passion and pain so beautifully in this poem, I can feel it all the way from here.
Fareed, you express feelings so well, so eloquently. And thank you for stopping in and commenting on my latest post. You are entitled to your disgust with the character, or with what he says, or with whatever else you wish. It's a free world, isn't it? ;-)
Nevine
I don't even know what to say now. Everything's been said already.
Simply beautiful. Passion and pain travel together hand in hand since ages. Love the paradox.
Keep penning! :)
Dulce- I shall visit you solely for my pleasure again. And whats goody-goody here =|
DT- Danke
Sandy- Much appreciated
Ily- I'm honoured to have caused such effects by merely jotting down some words.
Nevine- You write strongly, very concrete. It was the character and his sheer lack of reliance on instincts which made me feel for foreign, hence the disgust.
Jal Pari- Thanks for visiting again. I miss reading your work.
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