Decayed
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Age is not all decay; it is the ripening, the swelling, of the fresh life within, that withers and bursts the husk. George MacDonald
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In a world where decay is dominant,
Arctic tundra is melting, and envy is prominent.
Friendship withered away with the lapse of time,
Moon gapes at all facts and truths, concomitant.
We jive in death-cool air and chime,
Where dreams and hopes start to climb.
As though molehills faded into the grass,
Rapture rain has turned into melting rime.
In a place where the sky spills tears of brass,
And the howling winds bestow a deafening bass.
We lingered in the natural ephemeral support,
Behind the murky cloud of the ebbing mass
Our bond, however, was not flexible to contort,
Cyclic in the way that orchestral drums distort.
We carried out a solemn pledge on the floor,
In divine draughts, brambles flood the report.
The Meadow Brook gave us richness galore,
Black valleys where floods shred and roar?
We could not deny such a reservoir of devotion,
As with the wilting branches and dwindling door.
Our bonds faded, plagued by wide demotion,
Secrets below the land, a flurry of blades of notion.
In a world where deterioration prevails supreme,
Time and distance cast a curtain on our emotions.
But even amid such decay, there is a dream,
Darkening and drooping, we creep and esteem.
With the truth that humanity may split and slope,
Crows chirp as they drop twigs and scream.
While passing across acrid rings of mope,
Our ties are fraying. Teach me how to hope.
It shines brightly behind the gloomy overlay,
A dazzling beacon in the depths to grope.
In this universe of inexorable decay,
We acquire courage with each raw day.
With percussive pulses of love and delight,
Our ties will last for a span we cannot deny.
In a world where decay holds its might,
We defy its grasp, shining with an inner light.
Through the drills and tribulations we face,
Whatever embers burn our ego and sight.
Copyright © Sotto Poet | Year Posted 2023
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