Waiting for a birthing pool
to throw up a dream chaser
nestled in chains.
The grip was easing out
on sun, stung by moon.
Asteroids start hitting again.
The runaway tiger had
turned cannibal, to practice
a new escapology.
A spiral of smoke
rises after the hunt.
You throw the glances back.
Someone will put a knife
in the tulips. Take home
the colours of death.
The celebration starts today.
Children of a bubble have
come out on the road.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: September 8th, 2016 00:01
- Category: Nature
- Views: 42
- User favorite of this poem: LIGHT WARRIOR.
Offline)
Comments2
You are a very unique writer and deep...This one I like very much...
Wonderful write
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