Without audible conflict
I invoke your face
from withered names.
It was always a big NO,
when I would seek comfort
in high sounding verdicts.
An unspoken, painful,
agony to script for an
unwritten foe.
The muscle will twitch
involuntarily, to taste
one’s own ink.
In the waning moon
I will come at your door
to ask for a poem.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: June 21st, 2018 19:40
- Category: Nature
- Views: 38
Offline)
Comments1
I love the third stanza. Powerful all on it's own. I do tend to interpret things I read, I do know that I tend to read it as to how it relates to my life and what I've gone through. Great post.
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