Shot in the face an insider
tells the story of withdrawl
of the vision thing.
Crooked hands lift the
frozen lake to drimk
the elixir of death.
Lonely home inspires
the dark bird to land
on the window of mountain walls.
Should have left this day
untouched by lips.
I am counting the bridges.
Age will tell the bones
to bend like strings
for a velvety song.
Satish Verma
- Author: satishverma ( Offline)
- Published: March 25th, 2011 22:48
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: Emi
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.