Monday, February 17, 2014

This Poem Kills Me

Meadow flooded with gray
leaving sheep astray
Blue sea turns blue
'tis the loneliest place i ever knew

Blood shed above east
This cold wind is but the least
a mending ground from shake can feel
after on its chest, sharp thorns dwell

This poem tries to draw a lovely curve
on world's face I almost cursed
it writes lines of pretense-blurred
 with wicked borrowed force

'tis failure, the service I don't get
but frowning is never to make a face of regret
'coz everything that's left is just vanity
I don't care anymore, this poem kills me


This bog contains English articles ( mostly English Poems ) that are original creation of the publisher. Any issue regarding the posts may be raised here