The lives of people who are showily in bliss: The sour-grapers said they are, but pretenses under which imperfections hide well. I think it is an ideal of lives filled with love, above which, covers and surpasses imperfections.
I am addicted to reading - blogs or FB - about the lives of people who are showily in bliss, wondering what exactly they have done that I haven't to be able to savour such. With age, ideals scarily fade.
On a journey 2 hours,
Trodding in stupor & daze.
Under the weeping skies and looking up,
Wondered if my best was not up to mark.
Perhaps the tears of heavens are blase,
So, i've failed to catch its ideal ace.
But what is to be done that have not been?
None could hear the thoughts.
Who can cast that fear?
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