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rained-on-paradePoems
I have stopped counting, the days, for they are now just seconds and hours that pour away into the blankness of life. It doesn't pain me because it is an understanding that for you love could never mean anything more than a prolonged feeling of monochromia. You have fallen, and fallen again. Love is nothing more than a chasing game for you. But if I had never come into your life, what could, in your ways of life, it have proved? Nothing. It was the mischief of the cosmos that wanted us to be. Else the weaves of the universe would come undone. We have our stories already written by a known hand. All we are, are characters waiting. Till our curtain falls.
0
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 8:30 AM UTC
Allegory
I have stopped counting, the days, for they are now just seconds and hours that pour away into the blankness of life. It doesn't pain me because it is an understanding that for you love could never mean anything more than a prolonged feeling of monochromia. You have fallen, and fallen again. Love is nothing more than a chasing game for you. But if I had never come into your life, what could, in your ways of life, it have proved? Nothing. It was the mischief of the cosmos that wanted us to be. Else the weaves of the universe would come undone. We have our stories already written by a known hand. All we are, are characters waiting. Till our curtain falls.
Tired.
rained-on-parade
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rained-on-parade
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 8:30 AM UTC
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