The Finale
Sleep the dust,
drunk; equalizing the forces
of bluebells.
I am not reaching anywhere.
The garden time
was waning. And I have
not tasted, yet,
the brutal force of juvenile storm.
Who had cheated the blooms ?
Embers had faked the sun.
There were no clouds?
in the eyes of the earth.
It was a holy dance
after a collective wake, for
the ripped apart emotions.
Moon was rising.
Satish Verma
Copyright © Satish Verma | Year Posted 2015
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