This is for the
smaller gods sitting
in rains, seeking asylum in
snow.
Nobody knows the
fate of sunken erotica
when the glacier
melts.
A wild rose
sends the thorns to
prick your conscience.
Let the death walk
in sleep.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: August 22nd, 2018 19:40
- Category: Nature
- Views: 10
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.