Monday, March 7, 2011

The Walk

From the midst of spring,
I walked under the sun,
Until the end of fall,
I had my shadow,
By me at all time,
Eternally I hope.

But as dusk comes,
It slowly fades,
Where I start to realise,
That the shadow I had,
I cared and loved for,
Would be gone.

But why?
Why does the sun have to set?
On this beautiful months,
Where it was forever spring,
Neither summer too temperate,
Nor winter too chill,
Perfectly resplendent blooms of daffodils,
But it died.

Those beautiful daffodils,
Carpetted by the white chill,
The dreaded chill,
Behind the mask,
I was fooled,
Yet the truth prevailed,
Not soon but later.

I have warned,
For no game is better than mine,
For you should not have started,
For I know I will win,
And I did.
I did,
But I forgive,
For it liberates my soul,
From the devil's love,
But to the heaven's call,
For I pray,
The shadow to live the life,
Of happiness,
And not walked where I had to walked,
Nor feel what I felt.