Shir Poetry: Untitled

The brightest rays of summer
Mask the darkness of the day
A celebrated death hides in the light.

The passing on of yesterday
Still looms in present time,
An affliction to a joyous age.

The ultimate surrender
Consigns a hollow upper hand
Left abandoned in stalemate eternity.

Disgust bound with obsession
Leads to triumph out of loss,
Concluded as an outcome with no end.

The Sonnets of William Shakespeare

CXXXVIII.

When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor`d youth,
Unlearned in the world`s false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress`d.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O! love`s best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter`d be.

Shir Poetry: Moments

I have these moments stored in my mind.
A small collection of fond memories of mine.
It's in those moments,
Those times alone,
When I would feel the best of feeling,

So... alive.
But in this moment
Called present time
There are no moments such as those
That come to mind.
For now those moments
I see were lies,
And all those moments have now passed-
Life can't rewind.
So here I stand
Corrupt and scaved
Forever burdened with moments from which I'm shamed.

You left me broke but I've still hope

I'll find a feeling for today.