Such cruel fate the “Moirai” weave,
Yearning souls suffer, tied hands leave,
and hearts grieve with shallow smiles.
“Converge!”, “Diverge!” the kismet calls;
Puppeteer show and dancing dolls;
Life trolls the harrowing miles.
Worded poems in bard’s quivers,
Not letters but his heart’s slivers,
He covers, conceals and hide.
“Love’s just a melancholic play”,
“Forget!” “Move on!” the logic say,
and heart obeys to it’s guide.
Time moves, doesn’t wait for anyone,
Once rising star, now’s dying sun,
“What’s won, what’s lost” turned to fog!
His wealth, surely they shall pillage,
His face erased from life’s image,
“Her visage” safe in his log…..
PS : This is a collection of 3 “Cywydd llosgyrnog“. My humble effort to get better at the art of poetry.