Prowling in moonlight,
time beats. Alone I was looted
like the moon. O ballad I will not believe you.
Everything was alright
except something was imperfect. Nobody
was taking a shower under the Niagara.
Of tears. The cascades
of prayers go into oblivion. These
killing days haunt me in dark, when I wake.
- Author: satishverma ( Offline)
- Published: August 9th, 2021 19:41
- Category: Nature
- Views: 12
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.