Sunday, February 27, 2011

For shattered dreams

Our muse is over and gone,
and the chosen one feels
as no inspiring hope
onto which cast our dreams;
and we are left to hurt and cry
pointlessly unravelling blue
as lines are filled with no bright
a path straightened to our dark doom.
Irony stands seemingly on our way
when we hope to fulfill our dreams,
as they head for turning points of life,
and allows us not to split our time,
our mind, our soul or our heart,
and shatters one merely for the sake
of feeding and nursing the next.
And this is how true love,
not seldom our ink’s stroke
fractures eager hands with swift blows
when once in the crossroad all’s been said and done.
Thus, Justice’s scale balances oneways
and we laugh and are merrily satisfied
but still up in our crimson plate,
one of us weeps for the brother sacrificed.


william said...

fabulous poem, well written :)

Wookies Girl said...

Nice verse. Thanks

Nomar Knight said...

This poem speaks to me on so many levels. Exquisite wording and imagery. Thanks for bringing it and your fabulous blog to my attention.

Maria Papadopoulou said...

Dark and it. We have similar writing styles in poetry.

Maria Papadopoulou
Poetry book: From Hell With Love Blog:

Fear Not the Darkness but What lies Within said...

Sheilagh Lee said: so true it tells the painful but wonderful life of awritert thabks for inviting me to read this.