A loch of drowning fish.
A nightingale's foresaken melody
Winning in solitude,
Yet a miser aplomb losing to the masses.
A frozen insecurity too secure to be smashed to smithereens.
A cloud pregnant with tears,
Locked up in aesthetic seal of inhibitions.
A storm silenced by turmoiled winds,
Windward-leeward, pool riding the same path.
A foam of bubbled appreciations and agreements
Concealing grimed, suspended envies.
A licensed firm of deflated compasses.
A mockery blended with puns of reality.
A clichéd metaphor of harrowing poetry,
Reeking off engraved fragrance of glossy smiles.
A knock of oblivious realisation
Breaking into the prohibited territory of emotions.
A shambolic chunk of words
Weaved into a similar verse,
Deciphered only by experienced empathies.
A convoluted tale of dazed characters
I fail to register the cameos of.
They call it 'Love' –
Too simple to be taken with,
Too complicated to comprehend.