Friday 8 June 2012

Fabled Fame

Feverish hands
Reach for the treasured crown
Studded with the rubies red
Redder than the blood shed.


Frenzied eyes
Gleam in a manic stupor.
Whispering wail reaches a screaming pitch
But the steady gaze does not flinch.


Frantic fingers
Trace the tainted ornament
Blood mixes with the deserved sweat
Prisoner to his inevitable death.


Faltering breaths
Interrupt the mighty king
He has proved his gutsy mettle
Yet life gushes out in a slow trickle.


Fiery desire
Of a mortal being?
Or a foolish game
On the walk of the Fabled Fame?

9 comments:

Unknown said...

beautifully weaved

Unknown said...

beautifully woven

Purple Mist said...

Thank you Alka

AmitAag said...

wow! very nice:)

smiling soul said...

different thinking! wow! :)

smiling soul said...

different thinking! wow! :)

Purple Mist said...

Thank you Amitji and Sowmya!

Sri Valli said...

Very beautiful poem :)

Purple Mist said...

Thank you, Valli :)