Death wil wash
the feet of truth.
Grass, where the blood spilled
has gone for sale.
A pink eye stalks
the night in dark
humility. You know
moon was rising.
A melting pot rips
apart the ghost.
Besottled I celebrate
the arrival of flames.
Thirsty, you throw the
ice cubes on the ramp.
Butterflies are going to
visit the altar.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: August 3rd, 2016 22:48
- Category: Nature
- Views: 8
Offline)
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