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 thunderThe 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.