What if the sword
leaves and purple eyes
of Iris become apocalyptic?
It would be for me- the arrow,
leaving from the arched
bows of goddess of rainbow.
Wearing a tiara, of
golden lotuses, in eerie morning
the sun was rising.
Dawn commits a
genuine sin. Wakes me up
to dig the past for bones of faithless truth.
The silent ocean has
a job to do. Turn me blue in
iced mercy without any smile.
Baked and browned, the
priest, marries a virgin to a ghost.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: November 18th, 2018 19:53
- Category: Nature
- Views: 32
Offline)
Comments1
This is absolutely stunning....your work always is....I look forward to reading your posts every day...knowing it will make me think..rather than picking random pieces of poets who's fortes lie obviously in some other field....Blessings
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.