A fast in hurry. you
pretend that you
were dead.
The legend survives,
putting the land’s blood
in the grass roots.
The tremors had started
in the blue flame. A lunatic
calls for the moon to explain.
The tides were not coming?
Watching hopelessly;
the decline of sinkers.
A watershed of humility.
The river has left the
body of water.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: November 17th, 2016 22:32
- Category: Nature
- Views: 41
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.