the narrative at the doorA Poem by surajsharma
Were we playing a game that once hung in the balance and now hangs
in silence as it draws to a finish and ends to diminish all the trappings of desire and the tease that this fire once flared in our hearts and our hearths now is branded a disease of a youth waning, please just tell me, was it all a game? Were we only keeping scores of our ignorance as it soared with a passion for the boring and the asinine conjectures of a roaring late adolescence when everything made more sense than it should have, retrospectively but actively, we plotted as we jotted all the diktats of realities of suburban localities where the cutting edge bleeds into the very mouth it feeds while the hands that once rocked the cradle now folded in a prayer are pleading for the biting to just stop, and the writing to just drop the emotional-baggage on the floor and leave the narrative at the door. © 2012 surajsharmaReviews
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3 Reviews Added on June 21, 2012 Last Updated on June 21, 2012 Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
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