It weeps ritual.
A spiritual walk
on the spikes. Heartache
to meet life daily.
Shadows beat
on the floor. You wanted
to catch the sun
in water filled vessel.
No silver king,
no coins.
You would never worship
the riches.
Forest of protests
grows. Journey steeps
in pain.
You come close to edge,
fall, rise, stand erect
to face the dark.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: November 20th, 2018 19:40
- Category: Nature
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Laura🌻
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Comments1
Common sense will prevail!
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