Before the spill there was
soaring. And then anti-g.
I readied myself
for the ultimate fall.
This was the poetry of submission
sharing the pain of disillusionment.
Who was pretending of liberation
in a see-through heart?
This was the time when
you run amok
under pheromones of dead clones:
the drowned dreams.
Pelting stones at moon
we were made for each other.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: September 23rd, 2016 23:25
- Category: Nature
- Views: 13
Offline)
Comments1
I would love if you would share your thoughts on crafting this poem. I am thrown off at the end--"we were made for each other". Thought provoking.
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