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With the first sign of rebirth Came the gift of time, extended In its renewal and revival, further Offering the restoration of friendly relations All done as an act of reconciliation between progress As well as forgiveness asked of our mothers, everyday Within such gifts intended for the common crowd It is at the stroke of the halcyon hour That we forget our sorrows and crumble like bricks What is of this sad ending that we talk of, intentionally That plagues the essence of the mind which is white as snow and trembling Only cloudy days can show us the purity of ice When the clouds do subside, the sweetness that preside All talk is forced into stony silence under the dark night Through the mad-sort of palace of time Where there is a time to withdraw into the study of history Ashes to ashes as well as fire to fire Dwelling in a cold curlicle of a silent galvanized gate at a cemetery Behind a rose garden, where the woodpeckers beak at the windowpane Rusted beyond recognition broken into windy submission Such things are built for no purpose and no future promise Only to sustain posterity and labour Not to make use of Earthly resources An old man still waits for the rain Saying that he is hiding behind the arras of an isolated house Where the sepulchre is hidden under a rock tattered by zephyr A string of creeper prostrate themselves, whimpering That ostensibly grow, under the shadow of a thatched roof Only to never be seen again in daylight Of rebirth and redemption Such is the creeper in the daylight That lives in utter recluse and retreat
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May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 5:11 PM UTC
aditya-roy
The Daylight Creeper
With the first sign of rebirth Came the gift of time, extended In its renewal and revival, further Offering the restoration of friendly relations All done as an act of reconciliation between progress As well as forgiveness asked of our mothers, everyday Within such gifts intended for the common crowd It is at the stroke of the halcyon hour That we forget our sorrows and crumble like bricks What is of this sad ending that we talk of, intentionally That plagues the essence of the mind which is white as snow and trembling Only cloudy days can show us the purity of ice When the clouds do subside, the sweetness that preside All talk is forced into stony silence under the dark night Through the mad-sort of palace of time Where there is a time to withdraw into the study of history Ashes to ashes as well as fire to fire Dwelling in a cold curlicle of a silent galvanized gate at a cemetery Behind a rose garden, where the woodpeckers beak at the windowpane Rusted beyond recognition broken into windy submission Such things are built for no purpose and no future promise Only to sustain posterity and labour Not to make use of Earthly resources An old man still waits for the rain Saying that he is hiding behind the arras of an isolated house Where the sepulchre is hidden under a rock tattered by zephyr A string of creeper prostrate themselves, whimpering That ostensibly grow, under the shadow of a thatched roof Only to never be seen again in daylight Of rebirth and redemption Such is the creeper in the daylight That lives in utter recluse and retreat
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Smells like heaven  Yet it burns like hell. This gasoline love of yours; The soot as it burns  has blinded me well. When Our lips brushed.. And we purge with passions Your love like gasoline explodes my shredded senses. Whenever Supple Skin meets. When I spread my arms It flirted into space. This gasoline like love Snakes ghostly like sneaky steam. smoking out of my Embrace. Just like a match My destiny is to burn Your gasoline love Consumed my essence  Producing a red torch of my destiny.
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Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 2:47 PM UTC
henryakeru
Gasoline
Smells like heaven  Yet it burns like hell. This gasoline love of yours; The soot as it burns  has blinded me well. When Our lips brushed.. And we purge with passions Your love like gasoline explodes my shredded senses. Whenever Supple Skin meets. When I spread my arms It flirted into space. This gasoline like love Snakes ghostly like sneaky steam. smoking out of my Embrace. Just like a match My destiny is to burn Your gasoline love Consumed my essence  Producing a red torch of my destiny.
Continue reading...
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