|
Post by Pez on Jun 21, 2009 1:52:54 GMT -6
When words act as mortar to a mortal soul; When ink works with parchment as its banal bole; When love acts as romance in a novel's whole; When death brings its bittern 'gainst a youthful foal.
When words act as mortar to a mortal soul, a bond begins to sever 'fore cement can ever hold, slipping at the crevices, foundations creak and fold, a monument then crumbles from its broken mold.
When ink works with parchment as its banal bole, it weakens from the inside of stanzas naught foretold. in words unwritten of the person who stubbornly withholds, a poem of fiery passion then chills with icy cold
When love acts as romance in a novel's whole, the lives of harbored characters twist in subtle roles lost is all the character, in dozens by dimes sold a diamond devolution returns to dreary coal
When death brings its bittern to a youthful foal, a life is snuffed for all the world to mournfully console but is this life a literal term, no metaphor enclosed? Or is it just a symbol--in life as juxtaposed?
The answer to this question is defined by its own goal-- --the lie of seeking purity, when all that's sought is gold.
|
|
|
Post by That One Girl on Jun 28, 2009 17:43:18 GMT -6
I really like it. It's a little hard for me to read though. I would love to hear you read it sometime so I know how it flows in your mind. Very interesting concept. (:
|
|