Each passing time my will to create with words depart from my impulse,
The drive and want and passion lost by crippled sense of inner flames.
Do you see the dreams blurr the skies of blue to grey,
As crimson and hues of purple interplay in the celestrial plain.
From the time of land parted from the skies zenith ago
And further more the time garden of Eden let Lilith go!
It's a place of Queens and Kings with wings,
while ladies and maiden play among the swings.
With stone and lands with rocks shaped into castle,
All those creation crumbled to dust to ashes blown by the wind.
Such illustration created by sleeping illusion eludes interpretation,
As time elapse our minds will shut to collaspe with no variables.
As the strand of hair turn black to white with forgotten songs,
One can lose all of their imagination and can only surrender to sleep.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC
Each passing time my will to create with words depart from my impulse,
The drive and want and passion lost by crippled sense of inner flames.
Do you see the dreams blurr the skies of blue to grey,
As crimson and hues of purple interplay in the celestrial plain.
From the time of land parted from the skies zenith ago
And further more the time garden of Eden let Lilith go!
It's a place of Queens and Kings with wings,
while ladies and maiden play among the swings.
With stone and lands with rocks shaped into castle,
All those creation crumbled to dust to ashes blown by the wind.
Such illustration created by sleeping illusion eludes interpretation,
As time elapse our minds will shut to collaspe with no variables.
As the strand of hair turn black to white with forgotten songs,
One can lose all of their imagination and can only surrender to sleep.
I think my will to articulate with words have passed beyond my time,
For the fire and desire to write have dwindled into expressing nothing more than dreams and old memories!
Request permission to use this poem