rikibose

Twirling, skipping, never tripping Walking on a fabric floor A cloth call society,                   whimsical, flighty Spun by the human mind . An infinite house, identical rooms Every step reveals a door Chasing one's tail,                     but her step doesn't fail For what is there to see behind? . An endless staircase Only see the next floor Never look down,                       and all those around Will always respond in kind . But look, the shoes are slipping The fabric is ripping Her feet are sore,                         can go no more What are we trying to find?

The present is but a bead Running  along a thread Has passed a certain length but Knows not what knots lie ahead - It battles on, each day While others are helped ahead Ad some crush some to go on forth Whole others live in the past instead - A beauteous bead one may be Or an ugly one;yet The bead of mud may victor While falls the stone of jet - The threads are many colored Some gilded, some dark Some worn with ceaseless worries Some carefree as a lark - The threads are woven together Into the tapestry of life The colors, shimmering or dull Reflect hope-happiness-strife - And as the beads march on The present passes into past And weary mins w

From the ascetic to the mountain From the lake to the trees From the water to the fountain From the birds to the bees - The sun has risen! The sun has risen! The sun has risen up high! The bright rays of hope illuminate the sky! The night is over, the night is over, the stars are drowned out, And all over, all over, all over they shout! - "'Tis victory!'Tis victory!'Tis victory today! The bright sun has all miseries forever driven away! 'Tis an end 'tis an end, 'tis an end to all things fey!" So the ascetic, the lake, the water and bird say.

A hum of noise filed my ears. The clink of glasses, the sound of tinkling, well-rehearsed laughter, polite tones undoubtedly commenting on the weather. feet thudded heavily on the carpet, muffled thuds from the boots of men and the sharper sound of high heels. Pleasanteries surrounded me, compliments on one's dress  hairstyle, questions wondering if those shoes were new. I could tell of the approach of the host by the commotion of voices surrounding him, stumbling over each other in their effort to outdo one another's compliments on the 'elegant chandeliers' and 'delicious hours d'ouevres'. The commotion came closer-closer-and then farther a

Gold plated, like flame gleaming Rose pearls of a maiden's dreaming Ivory,like foam on wave rolls On the walls of the hall of souls The fragrance of a thousand roses Smells smelt by princess's noses Dark and heady, like a young foal Was the air in the hall of souls The sound of a waterfall, trickling Faraway chimes, softly tinkling Mysterious, beautiful-heavenly carols Resound within the hall of souls But no bright voices, chattering No feet, happily pattering No thoughts, no regrets, no goals Not a soul in the hall of souls

Red were their plumes, and red was their armor Red were the eyes of their steeds Red was their battle lust, bursting out from their hearts Red was the sunset behind them Red were the flames of the lanterns they lit And red the shadow, of the army before them Red the evening star, shining above And red was their cry, as they charged Red was the clash of their swords In reflection of flags set to flame Red their spears, old blood-stained Seeking new blood again And the blood, it poured, and poured, and poured And red was the ground, Carpeted in life, And in the midst of it all, Two banners. A slight breeze, the banners fall- On the two tha