#myfirstpostonhellopoetry
As the light slowly etches away the night,
The colours slowly pop up, bold and bright.
They glisten as they finally reach out to their life source,
And suddenly life's denied of any remorse.
The gods have frilled their favorite planet for the grand opening of the year,
A cosmic intervention, a dimension of no fear.
And the trees rejoice, as they humbly accept the gift heavens bring.
And the trees rejoice, as it is the time of the venutian spring.
The planet begins to scorch as the mighty sun brings forth his might,
A new world is put in order, the day shines with the brightest light.
And the nights are shorter, who would want to sleep?
The season is young, brimming, tender and ready to reap.
The aura blankets the lonely planet, a radiance of sheer power,
Automating anything and everything that makes worlds what they are.
And the children rejoice, as they live their childhood like no one shall ever.
And the children rejoice, as it is the time of the mercurial summer.
The third quarter commences, the sun slowly begins to shy away,
The lethargy sets in, the rustling of the leaves fills the empty voids of the day.
What hath this sound done to the mighty Helios, for him to curtail his blazing steeds?
Winds humming, forcing the flame to succumb to their needs.
Orange and gold strewn on the open land, opens the gateway to a world azure.
Dusk dominates this time of the year.
And the winds rejoice, as they blow coupled with the soft rustling percussion.
And the winds rejoice, as it is the time of the erisian autumn.
The year opens to its close, a cloud shedding white precipitate,
has opened itself to the world in which people relate.
A blanket of frost covers all, a preservative by all means.
Few think of this as a time of redeem.
A solitary tree stands, below it, the dead memories of the yester seasons.
The night overpowers the day, rest need not need reason.
And the world rejoices, as it braces itself for the forthcoming year.
And the world rejoices, as it is the time of the martian winter.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
I am a good old goose
With a period old jeez
I was going to appease
Then came flowing in the breeze
The breeze blew on my face
To make me a tease
The breeze asked me my name
I called out the same
Then i asked it's name
I don’t have one said the breeze
So i called it by the seasons name
I called it Winter Breeze
I asked the winter breeze
From where it came to chase
Breeze said with please
I come from the mountains maze
Flowing though the valleys space
Flaunting in my own space
Winter Breeze kept flowing on my face
And i was overwhelmed by it’s grace
Mild whistles blew to say it’s trace
And my mind went flying with it’s tale
It said the story of the far and the near
While ending the tale it whispered clear
I will never see you again dear
Breezes don’t have names
And they don’t want to stay
I went wearing a tear
Listening the say, no dear
Without saying a word, another
The Winter Breeze kept flowing far for ever
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 2:31 PM UTC