Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Sonnet Rage

To taste the fine air in this Earth
The moment of life which runs fast
It's but a period, death and birth
And everything which does not last
Yet dreams woven and passions baked
Till gems of satisfaction fade
Ambitions pushed high, desires staked
And persons bring you harm and aid
The end is a veiled ecstasy
Through thorns and roses is the way
Yet living is a fallacy
If to live's but living today
Then what does this conundrum mean
If life's purpose has never been?

Standing by the moonlit river
The rustling woods, the chilling air
The stars that seem to dance and quiver
There is no cure to grave despair
As the howls of the wind dissolve
So are the cries of cowardice
The single flare of act involve
The surest path to a dead bliss
For nothing is yet worse enough
Than the murder of happiness
The absolute freeze, a grim trough
The downward wave of loneliness
The greatest frustration abounds
When decisions are without grounds

The sands that flow away unstopped
Drain finite possibilities
One's reflections unsure, abrupt
Vague objects become certainties
Motives behind all previous acts
Wasteful deceit and vanity
When one discovers what one lacks
Fulfillment's disability
Keeping promises is one thing
Pay debts, tell truths, smile, sing a song
Principles entail everything
To obey for safety is wrong
Simple as it seems, it's not all
For at it's best death deserves a call

Sick as the livid muck of blood
Throbbing termination at stake
Untamed emotions gush and flood
To a deadly sulfuric lake
Tremble, ye who destroys poor lives
The torture is yet to come by
When disease and fire and deadly knives
Fall down the blood-strewn sky
Marching bands of  cosmic beings
And minions of the hideous beast
All of pain's repugnant siblings
Clamor for the infernal feast
What a pity, what a sight it should have been
For the evil-doers to be caught in between!

To look through the eyes of the past
To remember things  created
In a lifetime which would not last
And a self that's isolated
One holds on to what is dearest
Whatever that something could be
To bliss or that which would be nearest
But that is a cruel decree
For man, as he can be the worst
He carries a dignified face
In nobility his is first
There's none a more chivalrous race
And as I gaze through the looking glass
My friends are there, having a class!

Time, that which flies across the sky
Like an eagle, lives on its claws
Like a leech, draining man's life dry
A soldier charging without pause
Many have sought to turn it back
Or retard its unchallenged march
Eternity, they seem to lack
The sea of seconds they parch
Yet all comprehend how they're in vain
To battle the gentle keeper
For, fearing age, in youth they are slain
And they sink even deeper
But wisdom owl speaks of one adage
Time is generous; it is we who should change

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