Set to break;
something was left
incomplete.
Time's portal
lets go yesteryear, and
I ask myself, if the
moons were mine.
The jack screw
had turned the course
of life. Why did you
go for the wax model?
The chilly thing was―
everybody sings a question.
The vendor of pain
will not give the answer.
Anger edicts
to destroy all the moons.
- 
                        Author:    
     
	satishverma (
 Offline) - Published: September 5th, 2023 19:53
 - Category: Nature
 - Views: 0
 

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