Drinking from the portrait
of an alienated moon
in a self-taught remedy―
I was looking very
hurt in the muse, which
had failed the earth.
I wanted to say, my
sun was my sun,
broken, eclipse by eclipse.
Who was traitor to oneself?
Sifting the leaves of a
raptor, to find the death
under the shade of
sundew, which blooms
when you become an insect.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: April 21st, 2018 19:33
- Category: Nature
- Views: 9
Offline)
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