What you give becomes
silver to come around. The gold nuggets stick
to me. Why you were crazy about the whole moon?
The critique says why
the hunger opens the mouth. The mask
will protect all the unused words.
The sacred pain was mine.
I am indebted to you that before I bled,
you came running to make me rich.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: June 25th, 2021 21:26
- Category: Nature
- Views: 22
- Users favorite of this poem: Laura🌻
Offline)
Comments1
satishverma,
An extraordinarily rich write from an extraordinary poet!
Laura🌻
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