Constant Not Life’s Hours,Yet Decline

Shall it human’s life as quivering clouds like wandering in its urge?
Such do e’en curious flee ,yet yearning thoughts as strangers risky be.
Owes the starless nights a haunting dream about our’s fickle image,
Since these roaming bees of despair are hiding keen its dismal hive.

Hope and strain are earthly elements, fame it do mold a mortal gate,
Then by with day by day lament, doom to us faint its wondrous dread.
O’ Constant not life’s hours if violent call’s do therewith seconds fate,
Thence finds eludible isolation: where do have an unshaken death?
                                                             ­                       Nithin Purple


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