Wednesday, February 09, 2005
The Muse
He wanders desperately o'er hill and vale,
Breathless and wan and pale.
Lost and bewildered, he stumbles about.
In his journey, does he mightily fail.
His reservoir, once brimful, is parched and dry.
That even tears won't drop, when he starts to cry.
He walks alone and along shadowy trails
Which no longer lead to the mountains high
Where he once reigned in the days of yore,
When his deeds were the stuff of lore.
Eternal springs sparkled and danced for joy.
But alas! They are to be found no more.
Where are you, O Elusive Muse!
He craves for the power you could verily infuse.
O Cruel Muse! Why do you treat him thus?
Shattering those dreams which he carves and hews.
O for the plenteous hidden vaults you could unlock
And end his drought wrought by the dreaded block.
O Haughty Muse! You are so callous and cold.
He writhes in dying agony and yet you mock.
O Spiteful Beauty! Such is your scorn
That it pierces his heart like a thorn.
He who walked among the clouds,
Of all majesty and grandeur, is now shorn.
His passion and prowess once burnt bright
Until with darkness, him did you smite.
O Heartless Queen! What have you done?
He is so weak that he can no longer fight.
O Giver of Gifts! It has always been your will.
Those lost wells you could replenish and refill.
But you now hate him so much
That you would laugh and let his blood spill.
Management Class : Idylls of the Wannabe
Breathless and wan and pale.
Lost and bewildered, he stumbles about.
In his journey, does he mightily fail.
His reservoir, once brimful, is parched and dry.
That even tears won't drop, when he starts to cry.
He walks alone and along shadowy trails
Which no longer lead to the mountains high
Where he once reigned in the days of yore,
When his deeds were the stuff of lore.
Eternal springs sparkled and danced for joy.
But alas! They are to be found no more.
Where are you, O Elusive Muse!
He craves for the power you could verily infuse.
O Cruel Muse! Why do you treat him thus?
Shattering those dreams which he carves and hews.
O for the plenteous hidden vaults you could unlock
And end his drought wrought by the dreaded block.
O Haughty Muse! You are so callous and cold.
He writhes in dying agony and yet you mock.
O Spiteful Beauty! Such is your scorn
That it pierces his heart like a thorn.
He who walked among the clouds,
Of all majesty and grandeur, is now shorn.
His passion and prowess once burnt bright
Until with darkness, him did you smite.
O Heartless Queen! What have you done?
He is so weak that he can no longer fight.
O Giver of Gifts! It has always been your will.
Those lost wells you could replenish and refill.
But you now hate him so much
That you would laugh and let his blood spill.
Management Class : Idylls of the Wannabe
mental baba 11:03 AM
