When the dialogue stops
there will be a royal bleed.
I had not come to the
terms of slaughter.
Wanted now, to manage
the anguish incontinent.
Can you find some space in
waiting, for the hangman?
Footprints and invisible faces.
Somewhere a hope lives in amber.
Trapped light, in wintery dark,
will stop a seed to play the nocturne.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: January 2nd, 2018 20:17
- Category: Nature
- Views: 8
Offline)
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