I walk through the slush
of moral grief.
Here lies my mortal poem.
A prodigal menace.
You will not breathe in, the
golden grass, once more.
Lingering beside the past, the
savage today. I pick up
the silence of the tomb.
Lateral conjugation. You
come from the otherside to
breach the wall, bear the
pluralism―
and become none. The under-
belly, the yellow blood?
Will you hold my hand
to cross the meaning?
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: March 28th, 2018 19:20
- Category: Nature
- Views: 35
Offline)
Comments1
of course, I'd help to think through the meanings with you and help guide each towards a better life. hand in hand of course. great writing, my friend.
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