What is ignorance

But another face of arrogance,

Wisely chosen to believe in

Bliss.

By her.

 

Cantankerous cackles of a misfit

Over air borne signals,

To the only blood minimally worthy

Of trustworthy.

 

Of pompous cries of valour in the battlefield, she spoke,

If the arrow of extra meat ever found her.

Her tired jowl and

Always sad scowl sighed,

She could endure

The poison her lover drank

And walk the darkness through blindness with

No sticks and pities required.

 

Will she be forgiven by the deities

Of her tribe?

Will she be laughed at by the children

Of tomorrow

With tales of jibe?

Forsaken by waves of mirthless merriment

Across the room,

She ruminates of all the galaxies to feast on

Had she loved a little more.

 

Will she have peace

In her silent thoughts

Of absolutely silent nothings.

Haunted by a heartburn of undigested concoctions

Of loss,remorse and musings now

So morose.

 

For life is a cycle of moments,

More so gray when living through them

But evermore greener when looking at them,

Had she held a palette of colours and a paintbrush of wit,

To imbue yellow into the stones of blue

And stroke a right red

As the mightiest of hues.