The Unfeasible Expedition

The sheer maintenance of the probability, Nothing is comparable to our garrulous mendacity. Nothing can be called a consummate pattern, Except for any tremendous aching, this life would only be a fallacious earn. You are just an archetypal passer-by without any aim, You want to play an unwarranted game. Your loudest silence is another offence, In this horrifying reality, you are nothing but an object of pretence. I am only a creep, Who cannot conclude anything by hearing a beep. I am nothing but a remiss whisper, Who always follows the astute pied pipers. We are the prerequisites for the uncustomary laws, You and I are awaiting the perfect pause. To pause for the first time is to give us a promotion, To resume our voice is just waiting for the untold damnation. In my feathers, you will live long, Throughout the flight to blessed hell, you want to sing an eerie song. You want to reside in my flawless illusion, This unfeasible expedition is nothing but a callous vision.