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Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Void

Trapped in the deep ravine of self,
Lies a mortal man,
Crumbling inside the mirror of deeds,
Lay with fear, hand in hand.


A mirror to lie to,
Yet his grave conscience to face,
The mortal has lived for ages unheard,
With a pen, a broken heart and a crippled grace.


Oh no, not a poet ever,
Still the ballads of confusion prevail,
Demeaning the mere existence of truth,
Hanging by a broken rail.


Oh no, not an artist ever,
Embossed in the paint of the fiery canvas,
A canvas of lies and grim reality encore,
Spends a day with friends, and night with the dream whore.


Hush the valley, oh he is falling in,
The immortal man, who is dying within.

2 comments:

Lady Whispers said...

You better write poetry more often
This was sooooooooo goood

Don't we all die within somehow?

I totally loved it :D

Nik said...

Thank You.. :) Sorry for being late, had been busy lately. And I would like to write poetry too...but i really have to get the hang of it.. so will slowly learn and write...

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