You were aging by nights.
Days will not seek
to defend you.
Drawing the landscape
of a snowfall,
you will die in a portrait.
The world meets
you again like a jawless
lamprey with sucker mouth.
Beyond the blues
lies a tower, where
you will not find the stairs.
In battlefield, stands
the army of red ants, ready
to pound upon the moonlight.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: December 26th, 2017 19:38
- Category: Nature
- Views: 11
Offline)
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