Metro on the left

[phoebelll25]

Turn right, walk along, and,
you will arrive at a Metro station.
Taking the Metro on the left,
it is a daily monotony,
that you and I cannot escape.
Six point forty five,
Metro arrives in time,
and we are forced to face our life.
Sometimes I think, occasionally,
how to disentangle the entrammelled mess,
the convoluted and time-consuming process,
process of performing roles in the hilarious society,
process of maturity,
process of aging.
Metro tumbled along.
Stop.
And you step on.
My salvation is sought, though temporarily,
in your smiles, in your eyes.

[phoebelll25]

We are manipulated.
The word "human" to God is simply to destroy,
a toy for him to play,
the relentless game of Troy,
and there is joy,
When human maneuvers are instinctive,
sharply pointing to the conspiracy,
the massacre of all glorious civilizations,
the topple of the truth.
God is laughing at us, the capricious inventor,
sliest of all, endowed with supreme power,
and utmost sovereign in this game.
And how can I write such ludicruous fantasies?
Because I'm God's envoy.

[PrinceMyshkin]

I love this, the way it changes so suddenly at the end from the tediousness of daily life to the hope of love! Note correction below

Turn right, walk along, and,
you will arrive at a Metro station.
Taking the Metro on the left,
it is a daily monotony,
that you and I cannot escape.
Six point forty five,
Metro arrives in time,
and we are forced to face our life.
Sometimes I think, occasionally,
how to disentangle the entrammelled mess,
the convoluted and time-consuming process,
process of performing roles in the hilarious society,
process of maturity,
process of aging.
Metro tumbled along.
Stop.
And you step on.
My salvation is sought, though temporarily,
in your smiles, in your eyes.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Once again, you are the mistress of surprise in the twist in your final line!


We are manipulated.
The word "human" to God is simply to destroy,
a toy for him to play,
the relentless game of Troy,
and there is joy,
When human maneuvers are instinctive,
sharply pointing to the conspiracy,
the massacre of all glorious civilizations,
the topple of the truth.
God is laughing at us, the capricious inventor,
sliest of all, endowed with supreme power,
and utmost sovereign in this game.
And how can I write such ludicruous fantasies?
Because I'm God's envoy.

This is reminiscent of the glorious lines from King Lear:


Like flies to wanton boys, are we to the Gods,
They kill us for their sport!

[phoebelll25]

I love this, the way it changes so suddenly at the end from the tediousness of daily life to the hope of love! Note correction below

Thanks. I didn't check the spelling. The mistake is silly.

[phoebelll25]

anybody??