Prayers
I don’t know where it goes to or piles up
but grief is a large storage corrupting moments
of soft arousal: the body fails the mind
the screaming in the head and the grunt around
continue the night’s drunken flow
into the morning’s miserable brush
with the wheel’s slant truth and slangs
I poach in poetry to bare the sermons
lost in nostalgia or
insomnia of prayers
--R K Singh
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
