A Nightmare
The system aborts.
(Multiple organs failure)
A deviant art
of dying pompously.
I wish, I was on a -
moving floor, sailing
without a walk, looking at
the camouflaged ceiling.
The shrill voice of a whistle-
blower, mimics an opera.
I will snatch the words,
raw, from your lips.
It was here, in absence.
Your poesy, matter-of-factly.
Can you raise your voice
against the fall of the thing.
Satish Verma
Copyright © Satish Verma | Year Posted 2015
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment