Talking to Morpheus
when moon was asleep.
I was not guilty of
waking you up.
In splinters, the man
goes deaf and dumb.
A violin was thrown
on the track to stop the music.
Death becomes a finger,
points at you.
The rodes become blind.
There was no D-Day for exit.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: July 27th, 2019 20:00
- Category: Nature
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: Laura🌻
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