We created
our own tranquil paradox
composed of our own intellect.

Simultaneously interlaced,
our hearts tethered and tied,

We guide each other
in pursuit
of our own inevitable departure.

An incessant melody,
it’s fixated reigns
propelling us onwards.

An unabating and timely routine,
though brimming with potential
remains a variant
of our own prejudiced apprehension.

So onwards we dance,
towards the foreboding morality
we call paradise.

Plotting our own demise,
I'll do yours
if you'll do mine.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem