anger, antidepressants, confidence, Dark, death, depression, Existence, Fall, fear, hope, hopeless, life, lost, Poem, Poetry, Reality

Oblivion

In the sea of darkness,
In absence of light,
This solitary man floats on,
Rudderless and without a mast,
Moving neither forward nor back,
Fearless and yet unafraid,
Hopeless and yet existent…

He floats seemingly,
Like a lone log driftless,
Tepid waters of diffidence,
Bathe his skin cold and lifeless,
The taunt and deep ridges of thought,
gently massaged away by these waters…

He floats gently,
Like the lone autumn leaf,
Falling from heights of glory,
Unaware as the mighty wind,
Gently caresses him and still,
Cradles him as he falls,
Towards the abyss of oblivion…

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childhood, Fall, Flowers, forgotten, love, memories, monsoon, Philosophy, Photography, Pictures, rain, romance, tears, weather

Black

The black darkness of the night,
Laughs gently at me in a roar unforgettable,
The mirth is shattered by its sudden transition,
And with the force of its unworldly design.

The night transcends between whiteness and blackness,
Each transience celebrated by silver brilliance,
The madness of its turmoil unforgettable.

In heavy lumps of tears,
Amidst a wail that is deep and penetrating,
The night begins to weep.

The wanderer looks from his shelter below,
His eyes peppered with the salts of time,
Does this night sing a paean in honor,
Is it the laughter of a madman,
Or the cries of a lost wanderer

Shimmering and glistening,
Screaming and whistling, The black darkness of the night,
Continued its laughter and still,
The night continued to weep…

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Autumn, Fall, Flowers, Grass, Leaves, Nature, Photography, Pictures, Poetry

As I Wander

As I wander on this nameless street,
by the lake reflecting the invigorating sky,
 I gaze at the rustling leaf,
and the sounds of stream and breeze.

Like a dream that was not remembered,
but was never forgotten,
 I see visions of grass and the sun,
The sights seem familiar,
The air tastes of a memory,
Like the dew on morning windows,
Like the dead branches floating,
Like the numbness in fingertips,
Like the ghosts of memories.

As I wander this nameless street,
By the lake reflecting the invigorating sky,
stolen from the belgian’s dreams.
I gaze at the colors of autumn,
and the sounds of stream and breeze.

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