The clocks have lost their use
And poets seem without muse
For the sands that trickled since ages
Have come to the end of all such phases
Where the dead grow lonely in despair
Facing a prospect quite so rare
Youth never brinks towards senility
For some turn towards depravity
And the bracket of emotions of loss
Have lost their glitz and gloss
As the end first begins with time
But for no reason or rhyme
Only to serve a test unto man
And see what he will do and can
There are those elated and content
And those who see not a road but a dent
To live till the end as one may be
Never to touch the afterlife so free
Only to roam about a creation gone mad
Whether you're old, born, youthful or a lad
For time alone may have departed here
But left man with a mind, fragile and mere
Confused whether he is blessed or in a curse
Unaware whether he is better or worse.
And poets seem without muse
For the sands that trickled since ages
Have come to the end of all such phases
Where the dead grow lonely in despair
Facing a prospect quite so rare
Youth never brinks towards senility
For some turn towards depravity
And the bracket of emotions of loss
Have lost their glitz and gloss
As the end first begins with time
But for no reason or rhyme
Only to serve a test unto man
And see what he will do and can
There are those elated and content
And those who see not a road but a dent
To live till the end as one may be
Never to touch the afterlife so free
Only to roam about a creation gone mad
Whether you're old, born, youthful or a lad
For time alone may have departed here
But left man with a mind, fragile and mere
Confused whether he is blessed or in a curse
Unaware whether he is better or worse.
Forums:
Reviews
No reviews yet.