Its thorns hurt, I still
love the rose, remaining unhappy.
No repeal. Life illuminates.
On the terrace I go to
talk to the moon. I will speak less.
I want to see the lips quivering.
This continues. The vital
existence of catching stars. This injures
but I will stand in dark.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: April 13th, 2021 19:44
- Category: Nature
- Views: 27
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments1
brilliant!
'This injures' - your choice word placement hit home, hard
just goes to show, poetry is not always about eloquence or imagery, that hard earned skill of placing you words to maximise their effect, is such an underrated quality..
what a talent, you choose to share dear poet
thank you
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