Sage
SAGE
The Burning sage smoulder's the twilight phantasmagoria,
Ghosts of scented smoke drift from a blackened clay pot,
Creatures sing our Sun to Morpheus arms,
Silence of their heart beats a deeper wish now,
Simple dreams of love in the long grass replace digital desire;
And all it took was our loss of freedom...
By
David Nickle Read
©D.N.Read 2020
All Rights Reserved By The Author
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.
