You walk through me
opening the portal of―
unending moment.
A right to die lingers in the eyes.
Not a serenade. I am
tying the knot on the tree.
The wait was becoming too long. I
would read again Hamlet without the prince.
Truth was not happy, when
you brought down the body.
The wind was moving like a panther
stealthily before the kill.
How shall we bite our toes―
now? They have left
a bloody trail on the
weeping grass.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: September 28th, 2019 20:04
- Category: Nature
- Views: 14
- User favorite of this poem: Laura🌻.
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