The Green-Eyed Monster

This is my first poem, hope u like it


I opened my eyes to see,
The fence, standing tall and proud.
Beyond it I beheld, the amazing sight
The grass was greener on the other side.

Lush it stood, in all it’s glory,
It’s green shining in my eye,
I longed to jump over the fence, to touch to feel
As, the grass was greener on the other side.

I stare at the ground beneath my feet,
my Eden, the garden of my dreams
It’s wholesomeness suddenly stricken
Just cos, the grass was greener on the other side.

I tried to reason, that it would change with seasons.
Summers and spring, winter and fall
All passed, no luck at all,
Still, the grass was greener on the other side.

I ploughed, sowed & toiled in every way.
To make my land as green as there.
But, it was all in vain, to no avail,
Cos, the grass was greener on the other side.

To stop from heeding Lucifer’s call, conjure a fence ten feet tall.
Insurmountable, solid as rock.
To hide the damning sight.
The grass was greener on the other side.

The green of the land haunted me, possessing me.
Flowing softly in the weightless breeze.
It entices me, forever eludes me.
The greener grass on the other side.

I wrecked it, wrecked them both with a wrecking ball.
Then, set ablaze like a ball of fire.
Fire to ashes, it turned to dust before my eyes.
Finally, the grass was greener on the other side….

.....no more.

A PÆAN.

[poems by Edgar A. Poe, 1831]

How shall the burial rite be read?
The solemn song be sung?
The requiem for the loveliest dead,
That ever died so young?

Her friends are gazing on her,
And on her gaudy bier,
And weep!--oh! to dishonor
Dead beauty with a tear!

They loved her for her wealth--
And they hated her for her pride--
But she grew in feeble health,
And they love her--that she died.

They tell me (while they speak
Of her "costly broider'd pall")
That my voice is growing weak--
That I should not sing at all--

Or that my tone should be
Tun'd to such solemn song
So mournfully--so mournfully,
That the dead may feel no wrong.

But she is gone above,
With young Hope at her side,
And I am drunk with love
Of the dead, who is my bride--

Of the dead--dead who lies
All perfum'd there,
With the death upon her eyes.
And the life upon her hair.

Thus on the coffin loud and long
I strike--the murmur sent
Through the gray chambers to my song,
Shall be the accompaniment.

Thou diedst in thy life's June--
But thou didst not die too fair:
Thou didst not die too soon,
Nor with too calm an air.

From more than friends on earth,
Thy life and love are riven,
To join the untainted mirth
Of more than thrones in heaven.--

Therefore, to thee this night
I will no requiem raise,
But waft thee on thy flight,
With a Pæan of old days.