A blood retreats―
through the gift of tears.
Pain has no religion.
Why did you search the
truth in ashes?
A command goes waste.
I didn't call a god
for mercy.
The dust leaps for wings.
Rain leaves no scars.
I will come back
to gather the washed bones.
A rusted wound has no thoughts left.
- Author: satishverma ( Offline)
- Published: September 5th, 2019 19:52
- Category: Nature
- Views: 15
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.