Commentaries On Far From the Madding Crowd

February 3, 2018
By Nikolozi BRONZE, Verona, New Jersey
Nikolozi BRONZE, Verona, New Jersey
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Why do the weeds in the meadows do but standeth prostrate,
of a rigidity belike that of a twig,
Yet, the semblance is the superficiality,
For the reality be of a more subtle nature.
Is not the Lily of the Valley fair in its complexion,
Steady in its beauty,
Evoking not any suspicion,
But only anything of the like.
The aura clementful, temperate throughout,
the slightest harm imperceivable to one’s impenetrable heart,
Is how perception cast the world from our observer.

The weeds do seem to sway,
Fastening their slight, infinitesimal protrusions
To fix onto the breeze which now, rather obligating, forcing their fluidity to harmonize.
Perceptible vigor provokes our observer,
Establishes from the periphery a West Wind,
Ceasing not of yet,
Beckoning, as maternity does to children, to our Lily,
To our fair tempestatibus.

And this the observer’s eyes perceivith,
Of a vigor more profound, acute, comprehensive.
And still, our meadow, Lily and aura stands.



On Bathseba

To be gay is all the definition of an unblighted youth,
At liberty of the burdensome tread of routine drudgery.
All seems fraught withall emotion as is inside,
Cast in a perspective which speaks so.
Repercussions are oblivious, a youthful indifference.
Shines incessantly the sun,
Interminably does the eddy caresseth the sand;
And she is the one being shined and caressed upon.
Spite is a miles away from the hem of her dress,
Traveling at a turtle’s pace.
The firmament revolves around her.

But ever did perspective render profound the beholder of that perspective.
A profundity which speaks of
Wholly of the renderings of uncovenanted repent    
Did the moon reveal her Moira.
Crashing do the waves drown her,
winded by blows, so as to suffocate her youth.
Infliction inflicting all of an imprudent disposition,
Cosmopolitan though Infliction is.
Has made its rendezvous with no indulgence,
Meditating not upon scrupulousness.
Rendering her to be one with the firmament.



On Sergeant Troy

A scarlet hue circumvents your superficial exterior,
To deign only of the highest respect.
The robustness of military gait and stride
Only to give way to the more tender of kidneys.
His scholarly hue only gleams inwards,
Temperamented by his outwardly vanity.

Indifference does he give to those he dotes on
Contrary to the enamored will of natural temptations.
Vicissitudes aplenty where these revelations
Engraved a firm engraving
Yet relinquished as quick as thought.

And when matrimony demanded her tea
He never bothered the sugar
Ever the more prominently chaste when was she.
But this sugar was a mere artificiality,
Genuine only she was in actuality
Feigned by he where vanity is the only sugar.
He where coquetry is a means to an end
Not in a beginning.

But fair Fanny did relinquish his vanity
Disrupt the felicitous ventures of game
To provoke his dormant sincerity
And be caressed on his mane.
For once, to possess inferiority
To succumb to the intangible.

Only, as soon the touch
The sooner the smite,
And did our scarlet lose his hue.

Avarice only deserves pain.





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