Get Rid Of The Advertisements

Vast And Near
 
To shut the methane,
you sent―
the barbs. The brutal
assault against the thimbles.

I will not send the
edict for withdrawl.
Even the river
was thirsty.

The freaks were
jumping on the fence.
An interrupted moon
was wary of them.

I will draw a
sand painting to heal
the man on the
beach.

The air smells
like an egg. As you
run, the mist
fills your eyes.

By satishverma

© 2019 satishverma (All rights reserved)

 

Read more poems by  satishverma
Send this poem to a friend
Read viewers comment(s)





The Starlite Cafe Discussion Board | Home

Back to Previous Page