Last Hope

When the dialogue stops 
there will be a royal bleed.

I had not come to the 
terms of slaughter.

Wanted now, to manage 
the anguish incontinent.

Can you find some space in
waiting, for the hangman ?

Footprints and invisible faces.
Somewhere a hope lives in amber.

Trapped light,in wintery dark,
will stop a seed to play the nocturne.


Satish Verma
Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

Poem

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