Running away,
Chasing a space,
That's not even meant to exist.
Following haze,
Into the race,
I've never been so crazed.
Burning faze,
Your lingering gaze,
Don't really matter, do they?
Life's an array,
So cast all your fray,
Longing for your answers to stray. . . .
Secreting daze,
That's the phrase,
From claws of obscurity they whist.
******************
Note: 'Whist' is an old English card game that is played by two players and points are scored by the party who wins the most tricks. . . .
Also, here fray is used in its archaic sense, meaning to be in a battle or a quarrel or an extremely competitive activity.
(1st October, 2021)
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Poetry - A Sound Of Silent Verses
PoetryJust an attempt to put my poetry out there for the world to see... " I hate this emptiness I feel; But I know that this is my ordeal; Although the shackle's caging me are, Wrought with love, and bound with hate; They do seal a special f...
