How did all happened, who was in it? And where it all did happened, some where inside me I was too cramped to get in it
No I wished to get out.
A flawless sparkle of the fire flare-up over the wind taking charred to the oysters. I felt relieved while smouldering in the fury of the words.
As the song goes its only words and words are all I have.. But I had lost the count of the many which had just brushed me ajar as if they were all mine…
Snuggling to the fury of those few words have kept me burning in and out, forget the dawn and dusk, I had lost the count of the breaths fuming the sweltering air in and out..
Seems it’s not hard to see how ardent life becomes over the lives which we live in with and for. But the irony of it the lived in lives for and yet live in for it. Many grave battles fought over the breads and breaths ego, agony, desire, and fury of hatred ending in no end. Where does they end and surface over the rest, is none the rest just the words of the self or thy. This is what I have believed for being in isolation of the solitude of the rest other than the self and thy.
Even in the wildest dreams one is not alone then where do the words flow in from the brook of the solace. We don’t find them ever yet we chase and in this trail many confront. The illusion of thy and I get over and we come to see one domain with the likes. All with different likes and dislikes for the self and their i.
How unreal it is, when we use to see what we don’t and yet we are shown what isn’t. To the agony for the self and thy is surfaces from within but not over the others. Yet the blame of the game falls over the rest and best either on thy or the i. the significant others rules in the war of words as they baffles over and over wandering on the agony. But the anguish isn’t theirs it just the words which turns it in to fury. Frolic and fun for the rest and best in and around just the thy and I turns ugly and rest rules in the battles of words
None is at it over it above it, the way I refute to listen to the self it mere a pity on me. Its not how I deal with it but more how believe in it the farther I move the closer I get to the fury and words don’t end they keep pouring in like the blinding rain. Blurring the vision of the self for thy, I choose the words for i or thy.
I feel the fury within me but don’t vent nor do I believe in some and not in the others but I prefer to see them just them.
Laid down at times fluttered and punted to the crook yet I know even their I would get to see a few more just to see in to them..
And the words for them would be just what I see just what I see. I hope in the end the spirit tend to see and just see even for thy…
