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Sunday, July 11, 2010

On The Process Of Unsuccesfull Writing

It starts with a nip, and shallow breeze,
a shuttering eye, and quivering knees,
a tempered soul, and fading sight,
and gazing stars in sleepness night

then a first thought, like a candle lit,
sheds light on fragment' ruins inside,
and painful, stone by stone it lifts
bones from ancient tribes

The thoughts they start
to dance and circle
around a center undetected
with joyful heart,
it boils and smirkles,
and yearns to be perfected

a well of silence spills and screaming
soundless faces war for more
as time is passing, world's adreaming,
all just vanish, lost for all.
Arthur Friand
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COMMENTS
Vijay Sai R 16 July 2010
brilliant outpour of words
0 0 Reply

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