Friday, April 3, 2015


Graphics by old_book_by_pjmfin-d5fv2y9 at DeviantArt

As the cobwebs are dusted off
The leather-bound black journal,
As it is parted open,
As the pages are skimmed in the faint flame of a dying candle,
The time-stained parchment cripples,
Disintegrates to the touch.
The words have faded, little can be seen
Of what remains from the tale.

This is the tale of what was once lived,
The passing moments through which
A perturbed scribe traveled.
All that remains bold, still,
Is the angst that consumed the heart,
The mockery of the social jungle,
Fake images of perfection,
Hollow, lifeless expressions.

They stained the pages,
The tears of tainted hurt.
They stabbed the heart,
The daggers of cold-blooded deceit.

The melting candle, like life passing by,
Devoured by flames.
The flames are the agony, inflicted
By those of one's own kind.
Once it burn out, dead and cold,
All would abate,
The angst, the pain.
No meaning would describe
What the pages portrayed.
Darkness shall embrace all ...
Pangs of hurt, the crimson tears,
And the chapters of the scribe's life ...

1 comment:

  1. Very well articulated, Abbie. Glad to connect with you through AtoZ.
    *Shantala @ ShanayaTales*


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