Wearied
Haunted are winds...
sometimes towards north or south
or east or west
even the air at times is dusty
through eyes and noses
and all senses
they converge and if
they query through questions
repeat frequencies
and let their problems
a variable
even answers are still
the poised presented
to observers
now nothing is left
but a mimic flower
found haunted.
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.