Death will not measure
the height,
from which we fall.
Not being,
the psyche of primeval fear
finds its conscience –
subverts the softness
of moon-eyed life
with wealth of green blood
in brown bread.
And the white candle
burns at night
to send aurora borealis
in blue irises.
Satish Verma
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: January 18th, 2013 22:34
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.