A broken hand picks
the last word in deep depression.
This was colossal revenge.
What was the questionable
dance of overtures? The predatory
habit will not go. A shadow on lake.
Were you standing on the moon?
I try to be true to myself. Waited for you
for centuries. You would not come.
- 
                        Author:    
     
	satishverma (
 Offline) - Published: August 7th, 2021 19:22
 - Category: Nature
 - Views: 9
 

 Offline)
			
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.