On a moonlight walk,
In the heart of spring,
With the haste of a light spring,
I danced past a spring,
Lined with canaries whispering gossip-talk.
In the meadow,
The fireflies blazed with blinking flare,
Torching their paths with natures glow,
While moving towards their greenish lair.
On a stump,
Sat a girlish rump,
Singing a sorrowful song,
With her head droopingly hung,
In the shadowy silent ambiance of a corner.
She sang in another tongue,
Like a mourner,
Wailing out the soul of her heart.
I wondered about her plight,
Why she sang so absent of mirth.
I wondered why she choose to be shadowed by the dark comfort of night.
I knew she sang of the death of old hopes,
Buried deep into the middle of the earth,
Away from aspiring gropes.
She spoke of snoring slumbering dreams,
Covered with layers of rigid films,
Fastened with the tightrope of the death bell.
Little wonder her face fell
That much, I could tell.
Frustrations had nipped at her core.
She wanted no more,
Of harrowing arrows lodged deep within her
As evident on the fore.
All she wanted was something to hold dear.
I knew she wished for coup dé grace,
Just to end the torturous race.
But will her death not make her life a farce,
Even when existence stays sparse?
Time will fulfill,
a man's dreams, aches and sins
He yearns to share.
splayed on the bayou like a canvass atop the mountaintop,
For all to see, know and tell.
The sinking ship overflows with its rolling tears,
but must it drown in its fears?
In the heart of spring,
With the haste of a light spring,
I danced past a spring,
Lined with canaries whispering gossip-talk.
In the meadow,
The fireflies blazed with blinking flare,
Torching their paths with natures glow,
While moving towards their greenish lair.
On a stump,
Sat a girlish rump,
Singing a sorrowful song,
With her head droopingly hung,
In the shadowy silent ambiance of a corner.
She sang in another tongue,
Like a mourner,
Wailing out the soul of her heart.
I wondered about her plight,
Why she sang so absent of mirth.
I wondered why she choose to be shadowed by the dark comfort of night.
I knew she sang of the death of old hopes,
Buried deep into the middle of the earth,
Away from aspiring gropes.
She spoke of snoring slumbering dreams,
Covered with layers of rigid films,
Fastened with the tightrope of the death bell.
Little wonder her face fell
That much, I could tell.
Frustrations had nipped at her core.
She wanted no more,
Of harrowing arrows lodged deep within her
As evident on the fore.
All she wanted was something to hold dear.
I knew she wished for coup dé grace,
Just to end the torturous race.
But will her death not make her life a farce,
Even when existence stays sparse?
Time will fulfill,
a man's dreams, aches and sins
He yearns to share.
splayed on the bayou like a canvass atop the mountaintop,
For all to see, know and tell.
The sinking ship overflows with its rolling tears,
but must it drown in its fears?
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