From the one you left behind.
that wretched day approaches,
as we were young and fond,
strangers introduce themselves,
feed themselves and make rounds to celebrate the latent dismay.
that sick wretched day-
as we were young and swayed,
we sang effortlessly
praising faux triumph,
with rose displays filled with scents of
rigid aloof claims.
is it really so strange?
a celebration of future remains
beaten by one's purpose
beyond knowing-
that day shall forge the company of
uninvited silhouettes faulting pain.
but no worry;
as for we are young and trained
to be savouring the richness of that baked chore,
unaware of the passing hollow men residing on the shore- wishing to not be desolate or born.
decorated with sweet rose-coloured lenses-
oblivious to the ill famine tension.
YOU ARE READING
collection of poems and short stories
PoetryPoems and short stories that I've written throughout my study of literature and writing. Hopefully you'll be able to see the progression of my craft. References to literature and artist are spread throughout the prose.
