You walk out from
the bruises, like a late
bloomer, for a clandestine
affair with indigo pain.
I break the barrier,
and teach myself, how not
to make an incendiary bomb.
A cohort will untie the barbed wires.
Now you can tread carefully
on fire ants, undaunted.
While stitches will take care
of the woundless blood.
A hoax sends you scurrying,
to find the golden apple,
which never emerges in light.
In despair you commit a crime.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: April 19th, 2018 18:48
- Category: Nature
- Views: 34
- Users favorite of this poem: Laura🌻
Offline)
Comments2
Fatality...an embrace of Deceit and Despair!
I think it is great!
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