The second death
of orange-moon in―
blood, when sun sleeps.
The magic over.
I am tired of mystery to
die in blue light.
Anxiety rises. You
want to become a prophet
after losing esteem.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: December 16th, 2022 21:14
- Category: Nature
- Views: 4
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.