Life; A whole literature
I'm trying to conceal life in metaphors and it ends up a paradox shaking itself out of those metaphorical cages.
It's as if life itself were nothing but an euphemism for something worse. Something that keeps pushing us to a write our own epitaph.
The irony of it all is overwhelming. For instance, the toiling of a man to fortify his legacy, something that will definitely be forgotten.
Such a waste of time!
The hyperbole of our dreams as children is like the candy, luring us into this prison.
But what if at our tender ages, we install a small knowledge of our fall to lessen our haul of this life and give a call to all who are ignorant like saul who became paul in the bible.
An alliteration to peel off the allegory that life weaves before us and see the nakedness of it.
Maybe then, the anaphora of our smiles when we meet new people would scream of the terror we face everyday.
Then perhaps, life wouldn't be just an imagery, painted by the words of it's victims, the old.
But it will be personified, walking among us. Showing everyone his true color.
Then i will know life can't be concealed in metaphors.
Because life itself is a literature the brain can't comprehend.
YOU ARE READING
THE PREMISE OF LOVE
PoetryMy Poetry, the art form of the soul, is an exquisite tapestry of language that weaves together emotions, thoughts, and experiences with skillful craftsmanship. It is a captivating expression of the human spirit, transcending time and culture, to tou...
