Since a very long time ago,
From those four elements,
They believed the world arose.
But this world was deemed meagre
By those whose thirst the river
Tried and failed to quench,
For they craved not the life
But only the privation of death.
While this fallacy prevailed on large
One more as such took roots.
And so did he take on himself
To impel on that heavy Ashen slate
An eonian Aurelian glister.
That dense plumbic nature
With a lethal taste
Was coerced and defiled,
In the hope to see
A warm glimmer shine.
Years burned down in sweat,
Wavering clouds washing away
His faith of the pellucid radiance.
Now lying on wet grass,
With every exhale, his hair
Somehow dancing light,
Yet his fist hid that livid rock
In a grip so tight,
And with one more, atlast
The dancing feather took a flight.
When finally his hands cut loose
The metal softly brushed meadows.
His foot firm on the ground,
Awaiting to leave with the dusk,
A moment before shadows took birth,
His eyes flickered down,
And beheld a flash of shimmer
Against the deepening green.
A second later,
The cool evening breeze
Flew away with it.
YOU ARE READING
Handwritten
Poetry"Sometimes I wonder If this is how it's supposed to be Can I make a choice ? Or is it all meant to be?"...
