Days are crisp,
nights chilled.
A lake of fluid fire, under the clouds,
prepares for a virgin assault.
I do not thaw the frozen hurts,
respect the disguise of the old lover.
Hearing my own voice from a distance? I
stand by the shore,
discover my lost home,
become a valley of sphinxes.
And the wetland kicks the pain
of earth to break into insanity of scars.
Satish Verma
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: November 25th, 2012 22:38
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
Offline)
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