Timid Being

Timid being seems to squirm inside,

Wide eyed,

Love and despair at the same time,

Heart has traveled from buses to trains,

To thousands of miles of unabashed love,

To plunging planes and tidal waves,

A storm seems to disrupt inside,

In colors of gold and grey,

For the first time 6 o’clock feels late,

Night never seems to fade from the eyes,

Heart has been up all night,

Of ever stuttering windows, Rain clouds,

Despair seems to be the chair,

That rocks back on its own accord,

The pendulum seems afraid to venture,

It’s certain, never ending, never changing path,

And the days have been enlightening,

Frightening have been the cold nights,

Loneliness has exchanged numbers,

But never seems to communicate,

Heart has travelled from the shadow to the eyes,

Long winding tresses of Golden Grace,

Her face seems to fade away,

Each time the mind ventures,

The face seems to fade a little more,

Maybe the memories were made to last,

Till the reality dawns it’s awkward embrace,

For the endless time 6 o’clock feels late,

Night never seems to fade,

Heart ponders on its never ending path,

It’s certain, never ending, never changing path,

Love and Despair at the same time.

Gibberish

Time has never been kind,

Always blinded by naked lights,

Lights synchronize in glitter and gold,

You are no more, strong, neither bold,

Neither the apple of someone’s eye,

For what seems to rhyme a lie,

Is actually a forgotten dream,

You are the river, flowing stream,

In pure sense an upheaval of senses,

Drenched in the love of endless creaks,

And no matter how hard you try,

To make sense of the words above,

Tides are not measured by the guy,

Standing near the beginning of the beach,

For dip your soul, your posterior, interior,

Into a seamless breeze, not afraid to drown,

Wear that frown like a crown underneath,

You have been the queen of someone’s desires,

Tired is your soul, down on your knees,

And in this sensible world of yours,

You are the only one senseless enough,

To make the mistakes of a child,

To be the responsible adult,

And to die like every other person,

Ought to be,

For nothing needs to be reasoned,

Not every word needs a reasoning,

For in true sense gibberish is the only word,

That makes sense to me.