Category: style

I have Become Myself

I had the fright of life

it was not worrisome in strife

I panicked and tweaked all the more

shed tears almost to the score

a fortnight I had been so

it was a nightmare in the go

I lost concentration all the while

not mine in the style

I succumbed to the threat

I started to fret

I cried and sobbed all too much

dragging with me my loved ones as such

the phase has passed now

I am clear as much as I know

great and good in a form

smart, cheerful and calm

as ever before in the flow

I have become myself in a slow.

Tags cheerful, Poem, Slow

camouflage difficulty Poetry stupid. style

Age I with difficulties
mostly all my faculties
go in a tangent almost
my legs the most
right one goes east
the left one towards the west
I go through in a test
imagine how would I arrive?
I do it with a drive
pull the left this way
push the left that way
a coordination in a way
camouflage my limp tactfully
show others that I walk gently
the way I make up my gait
I go ahead straight
my eyes serve me well
no short or long sights as well
see through and read through fine
so does my hands in a bind
work with confidence great
without them I would become inebriated
then come my physic in full form
once it was slender and calm
now is bloated with the flesh all around
a rolly polly figure in the round
not much of a difference in my hair
always had a short and dark hair
has changed now to silvery hair
I have acquired richness in that way
silver turns expensive nowadays
grey hair is a sign of wisdom is the belief
I for one do not have such a sign, a great relief
I go with my thoughts very stupid in course
well, do not blame it is not my choose
I was born with little brains all the more
so I live with the faintest evermore.

Tags Aging, Poem

Poetry scenery style

Up The Hill

It was a slow walk

with nobody to talk

went up the hill

where it was still

sauntered there for a while

amazed at the style

royal and imperious

beautiful and gorgeous

the scenery around

the calmness found

compelled me to stay

it would have made me gay

but I had to go down

to the lowly ground

where I live not alone

with a family in town.

who would wait for my return

my disappearance sudden

would put them in turmoil

with that all would be spoilt.

Tags hill, Poem

conclusive Poetry strokes style

An Offender

The behaviour of one
be that a phenomenon
a treacherous denomination
a grab with a nomination
a siege with a stealth
a beating under the belt
a sly motivation of note
desirous not to unquote
tricky in a way
desperate in a sway
gather the best with a skill
unfortunate it is still
not able to enjoy the fruits
laboured so hard to loot
the steal turns elusive
not in straight conclusive
seen as in other latent strokes
that which had been acquired in hoax
falls from his grip in a close
stands he an offender in trial
that is his fate in style.