Like a wax moth, me―
sensing your footsteps
from a mile.
*
The half-truths
were always baked in milk
to look white.
*
The cleric was
jubilant. God has decided
not to live any more.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: May 19th, 2018 19:03
- Category: Nature
- Views: 20
- Users favorite of this poem: Laura🌻
Offline)
Comments1
Consequential white lies!
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