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Roaring in, like a wall
shoving its way clear
and thudding into non-existence
splashing out into bits so small.
The prayer got heard
it would now evaporate
and cease to exist at all.
Pushing everything under cover
or out of existence.
It started to betray
melting spirits even lower.
The prayer got heard
it would now hide and cease to heat
and get morphed into a cooling shower.
Thundering in came a roof
snarling and grudging at everything underneath
changing all colors to darkness.
The chill seemed to put everything aloof.
The prayer got heard
everything will unite and cling to a common.
It would unify everything with a poof.
Crashing down in rage
beating down ‘bulls and hogs’.
Nothing changed, as everything grew still darker
still it was the same page.
the prayer got heard
the scene would shift to under
It would all surround like a protective cage.
Memories rushed and hurried
the wet tremors enticing disappearance,
the sweltering weather inducing helplessness,
the thrashing beads forcing the need to get buried,
the heavy weight pulling down the platform,
the abating seas wishing to open up
luring me into an in-existence so star-studded…
The underlying image - a sailor in the sea meeting his end. He goes through a series of problems – troubled sea waters and its waves, a brighly shining sun and its scorching heat, thunderous clouds overwhelming the scene with chill and darkness, a harsh downpour and finally, the sinking of his boat, taking him under the sea and finally into a peaceful in-existence. Map this to a lifetime in general. Our prayers do generally get heard, but only to expose more porblems. Also, it is supposed to be a bit satirical (very mild infact) with a negative vibe about the attitude towards life.
Thinking hard, harder,
to imagine it all the way into existence;
Laying cautious,
to be the supposed opportunist;
Letting time slip slowly,
to count each moment of wit and valor.
The person on the other side,
reflects me in whole,
tries to wake me up into the real,
to help me sleep forever.
They say that we’ll lose,
that we’ve lost.
they might have, I haven’t.
The sweat dropping on the black stone beneath,
burns with the patriotic effervescence.
The night was hard,
the day’s even harder.
Two have been taken hostage,
three died.
Five have bargained the country’s pride.
I still lay there, fighting,
with thoughts of victory not willing to subside.
But, in hope I wait;
I wait for air to start buzzing,
to have company,
I have a plan, I have the courage.
Without the support from above,
its all a waste, a waste of life.
Hence,
I lay under the stone, hidden;
thinking hard, harder,
to imagine it all the way to existence;
Laying cautious,
to be the supposed opportunist;
Letting time slip slowly,
to count each moment of wit and valor.
The undelying image - A war-soldier hiding under cover, waiting for his airforce to come to the rescue and help him execute his plans and comlete his mission. (so the soldier os trying to image the air-force into existence – probably showing the height of desperation)
