His Beautiful Misery
Through the raging waters of imagination,
Beside the fountains of damnation,
Laid a man of such beauty and charisma;
A fleeting glance of his blue jades,
Would slay girls from any millennia.
A cynical cad with a subtle rigour,
He could utter such daring unspeakables,
Yet in the same line and breath,
He would have melted a thousand hearts,
And sang a thousand pretty ballads.
What had he to care for but himself?
The clothes on his back, the shoes on the rack.
And the rays of love graced still,
His nicotine stained fingers,
His cold and unyielding will.
The suffering humanity in his eyes,
As desolate as a weeping willow,
Truly, he is full of sorrow.
It could be heard, his heart’s songs;
Trembling like a dying violin.
A dethroned king of the Sky kingdom,
He flounced on feet without discretion,
And gave flight to his worries with wings of silence,
So that he may drown them, lost and forgotten.
Alas the maidens and the lads knew not,
The ghastly whispers of his inner demons,
So damningly excruciating,
Was his beautiful misery.
Whispers
Who could forget those hands?
Whispering promises of love to anything it graced,
Long, pale, and elegant,
The hands of a musician.
Dancing across keys of ivory
The music was never any sweeter,
A touch so soft yet profound,
That hearts were sent a flutter.
Worthy of caressing clouds of heaven,
May their beauty triumph even death,
Lest the earth yearned a claiming,
For they are the musician’s every breath.
Pray for a chance meeting with him,
The owner of those lovely hands,
For they are heart wrenchingly pretty,
Those fingers of ivory.
P.S:
On a darker note, I'm about as senile as the Mad Hatter right now. Feeling pretty prickly too. *goes to study Biology* Man are but carbon based organisms. Sentient? Not all of us are.
