Washed-Out

satishverma

Slashing the surged monarchy
of celibates
stoking the fire of wounds,

the turret locks on to a target
taking off the gloves.
The mountain was rising.

A sheet of the floating ice
disturbs the ecology
of heart. I place my candle in storm.

The missils had failed.
Only the words were flying from
bare lips for entreaties.

Oversexed like a shoe-flower
O, mad enemy
I am pouring out the red sea.

  • Author: satishverma (Offline Offline)
  • Published: July 22nd, 2015 01:01
  • Category: Nature
  • Views: 13
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry and subscribe to My Poetic Side ↓

Receive the ebook in seconds 50 poems from 50 different authors Weekly news



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