sadness is dark, it seemed in her crying eyes
an eternal flame was hope, missing in her sighs

dwindling was the shine of her face, leisurely
one whose voice is sad, once used to be pearly

one who used to cheerfully smile, and smile
her unfathomable gasping , is it worthwhile?

sleep of the just, she wishes to leisurely get
embracing her still, i wish to in my every breath

for, my heart cannot suffer the loss of dear her
let go of her when embracing her? i would never!

gulp down the tears of her, to see her incarnate in me
after getting the eternal rest, will live inside me but she

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my dear! the memory will be made
by the fiery enthusiasm in my soul
not by the notorious way of getting laid
and taking no notice of your soul

i catch glimpse of enthusiasm in you
for, your elegance is beyond my mind
i have seen like you not many but a few
and that also, not of the good kind

befuddle they did me, ah, it hurts
for, you are the one who did not
i wish to love you, in well words
if fail to do so, I'll embrace a knot

to satisfy your appetite , do i desire
only of love, in our souls, to set a fire

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Afeared was my pen and its shine dwindling
A jumble of thoughts, i had been scribbling

Thoughts were being but scrunched up by me
Sloth occupied my soul, i had to truthfully agree

Did my scribbling soul into a writer's block
Ah,after all of that, death finally did knock

Afeared was i, not to have written anything
All in vain, i thought I had lost everything

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Should've had literally you compared with summer's day
Would've gotten peace but Shakespeare's soul in this way

"Thou art more lovely and more temperate ", ah! much too lovely
"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May",shaken were they roughly

"So long lives this, and this gives life to thee", my soul just flee
For, these words weren't less than magic, just as my thoughts exactly

Bard of the Avon and the greatest poet to have ever lived
Your soul, just like your writings , will just have outlived

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Dreams being scribbled in his old grave
An embrace with her beloved his soul did crave

Scribblings of love, being read on his gravestone
Yet showing other people the poet's milestone

Not of any help were his precious scribblings
For the desires of his heart were dwindling

Whereabouts of him became forgotten
Crestfallen, his soul had eventually gotten

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Imbrued with blood of dark thoughts
Was his my pen but having a fake shine leisurely
Listening was he, to the mere fake applauds
Were they of, the writings written by theivery

Gathered around near a cribber's grave
Were red velvet roses of beloved her
Was he, the cribber,of other's words a slave
For, his own scribblings, he did surely murder

Did his beloved get sleep of the just
Near his new, yet spooky dwelling
A new journey was started, by a new zest
Did other dead ones hear hersoul, but yelling

Tryst with regret, did the poor girl eventually get
Consoling her, by cribbing still, he did in every breath

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Dear, scribbler of dreams' the name
Scribbling for others gave me no fame

Scribbling other people's thoughts
Turned my hardwork into fake applauds

Broken is my unloved soul
For no one but i had to console

Are my thoughts but unspoken
For in my heart, they were broken

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"Love is a smoke raised with fume of sighs"
Ah, Shakespeare, the bard had been wise

Tryst with destiny and love, i had leisurely seen
Driven crazy by your charisma, i had surely been

The unconditional love was treacherous to mind
Yet it only seemed to heart but much too kind

"My mind was troubled with great melancholy"
Melancholy did my soul grasp, but it did fondly

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Pure's my soul, and my beloved
mind
Not any dark thoughts,and of good kind
Mood swings
An utopia was my heart, not a slum
Evil thoughts, from where did those come?

Demonized is my soul, so is my heart
That's why I'm an evil one, dear sweetheart

Not wisely did John Milton say, but did mention
"Better to reign in hell,than serve in heaven"

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