The Mysterious Felicity Poem by Bonics Bachinela

I am felicity,
In mysterious ways.
And, The felicity is me.

I‘m kill'd in many a strife,
Lived the life in sprite,
Pulled down, to hades, declined,
The conscience relented,
to heavens, inclined.
Ah, what a life in mis'ries
Along with contemp'raries!

Gentleness perturbed,
In deaths, the heart abode,
Siphoned the good tidings
To gratiate their lioness cravings;
And, In guillotine, made the mountains' ducked,
Caused the mighty, bowed and mocked,
The darkness aficionado succumbed.
A novice, felicity's
pained in silence.


In my morose, they arose
In Voltaire, governed
and conjured
firm'ment to tempestuous,
smooth paths' made arduous,
The gentle roses, to scarce,
‘til the copious earth, turned sparse.
The briar like snake twines;
Felicity, though hurt,
but gently smiles in silence.

In solitude, had lived the life in glee,
With imagination, vast
Of intricate flamboyance to see,
The heart, empowered,
A gift extraordinaire.
They say ‘tis enviable.
Then, overturned the strength
By serpentine devouring one's bliss
Out of precious iris.
Felicity, despised
Into precipice, enticed!

I am felicity.
Still the sad eyes, twinkle,
Still flamboyant and gracious
In the imprints of the jealous.
Bewitched, beloved,
Amidst pierces
And presses.

I am felicity,
In mysterious ways.
And, that felicity's me.
And, that felicity's me.