The beauty of mortality

All that is mortal will wither,
For that is beauty will ever last,
And yes the beauty is mortal,
For it lay in eyes of mortal men.
Love not immortality for then there is no pain,
The moments of beauty is best remembered,
In the last wishes of dying men.

Tales

With the dew, the song did start,

With the thaw, the song did grow,

In all hearts that warmed,

But them, the flints, smile slow!

Them that the waves wearied,

With time, still does the blood flow.

The red still be in those veins,

Those that are but etched deep.

Of all the water that has passed over,

Them, the bards do not sleep.

That sky of those days, be that blue,

These mirrors veil, time tells true.

Them be but the tales of a winter,

Be but flighty whispers this spring!

Those tales that the old bards told,

Newer tunes do bolder hearts bring.

The old chapters been buried now,

Old love, old hearts loosely sold.

Voices of reason for shiny toys,

Flights of reason for lovers bold.

Oh that we would love and forget,

For forget we do to love again.

Those deeds be done, be tales now,

To be buried, forgotten and laid low.

For the pages still be and 

Ink there is to fill!

We will start a new story,

Sing a new song, we will!

For we are but men, in images of gods,

Them we built, them the fickle lot.

A grand story always ends in circles,

Them, those tales will always be.

Those tales have always been old,

Old tales of newer days, will always be!

(PS: Why do our tales never change! )

we are men

Somethings never change. Sometimes you wish they would.But then again if they change we will not.

After a long way down the road you realise that somethings need to change. Flowers need to wither and the thorns along with them. Clay will sift and so will the rocks turn to clay.The days will pass and along with them the memories will dim.The sands always shift.

What the young naivete believes gradually grows dimmer till it is lost in the haze of maturity we pride ourselves on. Yes but does the intended maturity really describe the word coined in the dictionary.Do we really grow over our insecurities and start to open our eyes. Mostly we still chose not to believe in facts that we do not want to.That is human fallibility.Ans since to err is human we say to forgive the same is divine. On another though all that closes our eyes to things we do not want to see is either the divine or the implications of evil.

There upon a certain place in the road things seem clearer. At that point we wish we were back to the innocence of the naive.For a certain period forgetfulness would seem to be bliss.Most of us at that point choose to ignore the starkness of truth and trudge along in the mist.It seems so easy. Living things are conditioned to avoid whatever pains them.We run , we hide and we forget that we are all but a mortal race that has to die and turn to ash.

Sometimes I envy the non-living.They do not feel and they do not run.But then again they do not have the liberty to feel which makes them immune to conditioning.But the stoic pose that the non-living strike somehow inspires me.They do not or should i say cannot lie.They do not have to live with their heads and emotions for any meaningful pursuit.We have to and we do. We lie to ourselves , to others just to maintain illusions.The illusion will someday take the place of the person within you.We know that.We ignore that.

We are the race of men.We change.We die.

We love.We lie.

But we live.And we believe we will live again !