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The Demise
Contributed by
Safeer
on
Thursday, 10th July 2008 @ 03:53:18 PM in AEST
Topic:
oops
|
And in the Roman August
Of our tragic days
The light had all but withered,
The ephemeral existence of hope
Washed away in the drain of misery
And when the sun had guided us
On the narrow, precarious ledge of the precipice
The view of the chasms of hatred
Had disseminated our feelings of dread
And invoked the unmistakable signs of jubilance
The mere tractable task of following the yellow butterfly
As it swum in the air of the musty afternoon siesta
Failed us in an overshadow of hypocrisy
That old Meloquaides had nae foreseen
Breached never was the world we coveted
The world where armistice served as a synonym
Of the war between the verbal accusations,
Those neck-throttling, sweat smeared vocations,
Of utter enmity, that forestalled
The comings of a prophet with the double barreled shotgun
And upon his arrival,
Shots he fired into the horizon of eternity
Cartridges that circumnavigated the world
In a dizzying trance of the parallel journey,
And prophecies and practicalities it bore
None seeing the other’s fleeting face
Like unto turning wheels of a velocipede
A rotation hindered in the path of those prancing vultures
Who hath emblazoned the name of chastity
As an evanescent representation of the patron
Who had but forewarned his predecessors
Of the silence to ensue,
Had not the Angel apparated on the land divine
Amidst tumultuous uproar of cattle to the slaughter
Idyllic and pristine
Aloof as yet about the goings of the chasm
Yet armed with the device
Liable to desiccate sanctity
From the churned black ashes
That had been our hearts
O solitary warrior!
O fair maiden!
O dear taciturn Reverend!
Lo behold!
The amphitheatre of life
Goes not in lines straight to the vision
It is but a repetitory cycle
Of concentric circles
That have separated you
From the minds of your most desired
Now, afore I ascend to the heavens,
Neither the prophet, nor the angel
Shall show you the meanings of your life
And even from your dearests
Will you decipher a facade of mirages
That they think to be their lives
Oh the lives of people
Are but mirrors facing each other
With nothing to reflect but themselves
I despise the lucky one
The last of our race
The ultimate descendant of Adam
Who shall know the meaning of life
In the penultimate minute
The entire history of all our lives will he hear
Recited as weightless lead by the one in his head
And when he shall hear the last seconds of the lives of men
Shall the concentric circles of mirrors
Smash in upon himself
And the hand that made it all
Shall withdraw in methodical harmony
All shall be lost.
Copyright ©
Safeer
... [
2008-07-10 15:53:18]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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