There is something
about romanticising
In old forgotten cities
Just two souls
Standing atop broken-down towers
Like conquerors.
Writer
There is something
about romanticising
In old forgotten cities
Just two souls
Standing atop broken-down towers
Like conquerors.
She gathered all of her courage
and melted in his arms.
The rhythmic beats of his heart
Were the only melody of her life.
An obsessive writer
Lost in his words.
He saw many..
Long tireless days,
Sleepless nights.
Never stopping.
Lost in his words.
When the time came to stop
He did not understand
What is reality, what is life..
Until he completely lost his mind.
He stood long and alone,
With feet buried in the soft, warm sand.
He looked vacantly ahead at the ocean
Watching the waves rise angrily
Thrashing into each other
falling down,
then flowing away calmly into the ocean again.
He stood long and alone,
Till the sun began to set
turning the sky into red.
He buried his hands into his pockets
and continued staring ahead.
A pile of wood
burnt to the ground.
A fume of smoke
rises from its ash.
Winding slowly,
fading away.
A gust of wind
Blows on the heap of cinder.
It takes to the air
Breezing through the forest
In which it once lived.
In her mansion of dreams
Her garden was filled with
– daisies and daffodils.
She read stories
About palaces and fairies.
Dressed in pink and gold
She wore ribbons and shimmery were her soles.
Lying on lush green meadows
She sang sweet songs to the blue skies.
She danced with fireflies
and yearned for angel wings.
In her little world of glee
There was no room for fear or misery.
Snow-clad, bare-naked trees
Stood tall and still,
embracing the harshness of the weather.
Many glanced at their barrenness and looked away..
Many stared and related their miserable lives to them..
Many looked up and drew artistic inspiration..
Many lay at their feet and enjoyed the view of the clouded skies..
Admiration and disapproval,
Both seem to come their way.
But do they care?
They continue standing tall and still,
Embracing the winds of change.

Small hurried steps,
The girls stepped out of the cottage..
Holding mugs filled with hot chocolate.
They sat atop the hill,
Looking up at the starry sky
With a blanket over their shoulders.
They looked into each other’s eyes and giggled
and shared their first kiss
Ever.
There was all but snow on the ground.
Before night fall,
She gathered twigs
and barks of wood.
To kindle a fire –
Not for warmth
Not for protection.
In the chaotic flames of fire
She fed her fiery desires
To lose herself in the rising flames
Only to be born from the ashes again.
Day 95
In the midst of commotion..
She faded into oblivion.
The incessant squabbles went on..
As she rode away on her pink unicorn.