In wake of a new born day,
under the peace of a floating clouds,
the ghost of slaughtered mem'ry rose
from the cracks of her sleepless grave,
to fill the heart she once tore.
The sleeper in the tomb awoke
to quench the flames of her broken home
and to heal the heart bleeding tears,
pleading her poor tortured home
with a flood of tattered tears
gushing from her burdened eyes.
Gold-digger of a golden heart.
Heaven wiped the weep
of a broken heart
and mended the pieces
of your broken home.
Thus, your tears no longer count,
your prey is no longer frail.
He had gone to kiss the lips of freedom,
liberated from shattered shade of hope.
Copyright © Peter Phad | Year Posted 2021
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment