Straight face

Straight face
When autotomy of fear loses your grace
Straight face
When lachrymal wells stain your lace
Straight face
When greeted with pickled distaste
Straight face
When the all resonates with waste
Straight face
When only the nothing is in place
Straight face
When crumbled in cobalt blaze
Straight face
When forsaken for the sly chase
Straight face
When no thrill in his stagy embrace
Straight face
When the hope's bell corrodes its pace
Straight face
When you ruin most resplendent glaze
Straight face
When corrupted by the perilous race
Straight face
When the urge quenched by delays
Straight face
When outwitted by those who replace
Straight face
When soul's famulus betrays its gaze
Straight face
When minatory nugacity seizes past phase
Straight face
When the Barmecide dances in your maze
Straight face
When still yours a chiliad of loving craze

The photo’s source


“If you gain, you gain all; if you lose, you lose nothing.” (Pascal’s Wager)

 If you could toss
The ceaseless dross
Of smooth & secure
For rugged allure
Of frail certainties,
How much you would
Allow yourself to bleed
In the revealed
Realm of pestilent blows
As the gloom flows
Over your hopeful wrists?
Please, fill my fists
With thorns of "no".
Am not unworthy soul,
I'll take it whole
With dignified grace
And ensanguined gratitude.
Don't fill my eyes
With poisonous cries
Of ignored plea.
I'll not forgive thee,
But willingly forget
Till no dust is left
Of the cranky spell
Cast upon myself
By an eager fit
Of own delirious pith.
If you later dare
To remotely care,
When later is too late,
Better inscribe on a slate
Of godly faith
A taintless "adieu", don't break
The serenity of missed fate.

The photo’s source

There is plaguing gravity…

There is no glamour
In living perched above
The rabid clamour
Of sneering mob,
"Such lunatic,
Chimeric dreamer!"
As you flick
Their dire reamer
Which hums
Trying to reach and drill
Your porous lungs
Of hopeful will
With resignation,
You can't evade
Or lightly jade
A grim sensation
Of loss and futility.
How long the wait
Before it's too late?
There is plaguing gravity
In waiting up.
Often, many a cup
Of poisonous juice
Squeezed of gory bearing,
You must empty till sparing
And redemptive truce
Is finally made
Between your straight faith
And your tortuous fate…

The photo’s source