There is a song to sing for happiness, they say,
A song for despair too.
For pure lament, nostalgia, love,
Affection, attachment,
Pain, Discontent.
All he sought was himself.
Like Narcissus, he sang the song of self-love,
His own pain, joys, regrets, lessons,
Life's agonies revisited and performed,
Again and again.
Oh, the hours one wastes
Near the pale whiteness of Narcissus's face,
To know the Narcissus in him,
It takes an immense life time, you see,
A string of numb, deceiving days.
To turn now and see the mocking Sun
To witness the irksome garden and rain,
She shall teach her heart, by and by,
That song of sweet Revenge.
The Skies shall see that
Moon-lit hour,
When Narcissus sits and broods.
The hour of a new agony,
Her gift,
When another's pain in his heart intrudes.
Nemesis, she needs you not.
I see that venom, that power
That Song of Revenge
Shall fill the blue air,
When Narcissus walks in that her-willed hour.
6 comments:
Her will shall work its way
and create a song that'll
make him pay.
dearly, that too.
Fallen on his knees,
beloved Narcissus will still seek
his portrait in the waves,
of blood that will flow
from his heart unbidden.
And with a glass of wine
and a song on her lips
she'll away from there
humming a hum of
divine content.
:)
Great job Mutterer!
and I will say the same about you :) . Keep it up
Thank You! :)
Flattered to deceive.
Too cryptic for me..Shah O' Blah!
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