Sentinel Poetry: Expression Warehouse


The Irony of Life
At the brim of the river, moody afternoon, cloudy sight...
The wrath of the frowning waves are hunting into an insatious fight, 
The willow trees--bow down a crown of new, emerald-like sight-
Young, impetuous leaves are about to leave into the watery might:
The lucky one randomly fall, in to the lace of a dreamy, glassy light,
Floating on a boat of dream's wonder-life is but a boring delight.
Some fell amidst the swirling circles, now twisted now quenched,
Asking for what reason can't but drenched without been defended.
Some fallen by the brim are holding down to it, as to the cradle,
But to became tramples, squashed by those riding on a saddle.
Looking at them, the silent green mantle, now became as cattle   
The bare tree tries hard to ignore the cruelty of an unfair battle,
Where best is worst, and worst is best along of path of a destined life
Where judgments passed upon the core outside
- that is the irony of a so called - life.

E-mail the Poet   Expression Warehouse  Home