It's the gray days, they said
The dull harmony of nothings.
Too many critters, passionless,
Wandering around in life's lies.
When living becomes a chore,
And the world a ritualistic redo,
Dreamless, they cradled a new gen,
Shoving fruitless interests to fulfill.
Left to wander with liabilities,
Trampled hopes and aspirations,
Nursed the festering wounds of self,
By wounding the spirit of others.
A world of beaten downs,
Pillared a legacy of their own;
Embedding the archaic order,
And naming all hopes a disorder.
It's the winter, said another,
A harbinger of spring and summer;
Wanderers seeking new horizons,
An awakened harmony for the tons.
Turning Liabilities into opportunities,
And festering wounds into heroics;
In a world full of fervour and wonder,
Passions soar high amid a visionary thunder
The visionary uprising,
Threw caution to the wind,
The wounded spirit rose,
Rejuvened, paving new roads.
Waves of happiness seeped in,
Thriving With a new purpose,
Climbing the citadel of passion,
Warriors marched for a new season.
YOU ARE READING
Scribbles of a jaded Mind
PoetryA random collection of poems, the ones that were never planned but happened.
