Mountain crested,
weary trodden;
base camp memories wane.
Heart re-breasted,
teary sodden;
no more sleeve worn pain.
Just as azure
rings the pallet;
pastels, shadeless, bloom.
Fate, without lure,
Swings the mallet;
reinstating gloom.
What Gods' pleasure,
contributes to
this iniquity?
Or what measure
doth impute to
life's reality?
Comments
MistakenMagic | May 16, 2010 - 19:19
'Just as azure
rings the pallet;
pastels, shadeless, bloom.
Fate, without lure,
Swings the mallet;
reinstating gloom.'
- love the imagery in this stanza, Chris! A beautiful yet melancholy poem with great rhythm ;)
Magic xxx
shoe | May 17, 2010 - 17:35
I like the vocabulary in this, the first stanza particulary, rings very true alas!