Strain

The in's and yarns of the third sight
Fellow humans fetched a yard
Pulled a Soviet scarf
It was golden enchanted 
With real's of wheels spinning round and not, the balance is shaken.

The aim is not to blink fast 
Inhale the axial, breath in sequence 
Notify the brain's awaken mode 
Straighten the sight not to be blindfolded 
Foolish acts combined with luring spirits
The wave cannot disappear 
It needs to be dispatched

Up, up high 

Where there's Atmos lies a layer of retreat 
Watched like a time frame fragments 
They are sculptured with symbols of shrine to blend and bind 
The wine evaporates the pain yet in vain
It cost a dying calmer 
The ridges of peace, belong in kind
So more less in the South, far way back up to the North 

Ashleigh Ngoqo

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

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.