Exit

I know not

the grand entrance,

but when I leave

I know how it will be,

not even a faint ripple

on the space time fabric.

in-between ,

a performance subdued.

was it destiny,

or by intelligent design?

I played my part

the way I liked.

does it matter

if I failed or succeeded,

if for even a moment

I did bring a smile

to someone in need,

all the failures,

all the pains,

shall proudly embrace, as

from dust to dust

I return.

Vainglorious

Trinkets decorate walls
Ambitions showcased
Foundation rotting

Our Prisons, Created by Us

In our comfort zone,
We build our fortresses.
Keep out, we shout.
None that are
Not us,

Visit from the Autocorrect Ghost

Idea for this post came while commenting on a post from Ritu (butismileanyway). I read her post in bed and sent my comment.  As I was getting out from bed, I panicked.  Did the ghost of autocorrect took over my comment.  What a disaster that would be.

Rest assured I was texting
Not sexting
Enjoying the lush read

Bell tolls for all

‘You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled
Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring
The bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.’ —W.B. Yeats

Battlefields were gone long ago, bones turned to dust
Thousands perished here feeding conquerors’ power lust

They were young once, full of ambitions and dreams
Life cut short in distant lands amid pain and screams

Call of duty, false pride or manipulated by the powerful
They came in hordes, primed to kill, but dying like fools

Promises unfulfilled, broken hearts’ lonely cries unheard
Silent cries crush the hearts of myriad orphans left behind

Crumpled statues litter the landscape, those who gave the war calls
Take heart lost ones, when the dust settles, the bell tolls for all

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This poem is in response to Jane Dougherty’s A Month (November) with Yeats Challenge day Fifteen