The fantasy:
of moving in a circle,
taking a flower bath. A metaphysical
misquote. You were losing
your identity.
There was no abstract folly.
I will protect all the concrete truths.
To find a lover in the woods.
Fighting my demons
I start a circuitry of unborn vows.
The onslaughts continue.
Night comes with all its glory
to torment me, in absence of moon.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: November 15th, 2017 22:55
- Category: Nature
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: Caring dove
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Comments1
i love this 🙂
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