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Vanilla Storm
In Vanilla Storm
No whimsical fault could be undone
Or unfold
And no asinine desire is free
To run wild and flimsy ,
As flaming mirth
Here,
They were nothing,
Nothing but shards of broken glass
Feral glints of fuschia emanated their lucid surface
Like sunken dreams
Filled with lurid mess of curveless edges
Frosty and sharp
And vapidly brusque
As they seamlessly cut into our gossamer taradiddles
Like thin ices
And right where we stood,
Stygian eyes aimlessly set frozen on each other's (eyes)
Laid Cold and bare.
Repeating nonchalant words that revolved into bleak muses
Seems enjoyable , but they weren"t
When the vile
-They ran through the vessels of our minds
And we are nothing,
Nothing but blazing arrows with blue flames
Aiming on each other's chests.
Inane as It was,
This vanilla storm flashed bright and clean
On the skyline
Thought graceless and brusqe
and fervidly stolid
In that frivolous breeze
That danced fluids of motionless truth
Peeling our forsaken hopes into austere grains
Of damp sands.
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