Imperilment Poem by Satish Verma
Imperilment
The interstellar
reticence, becomes the
muse of a storm.
*
Departure begins,
when the lights are dimmed.
Night licks the moon.
*
Now, you can
roll up the stings.
Cadaver will not rise.
*
The bell rings―
for the last exhibit.
Moths were waiting.
Tuesday, October 18, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/23/2024 6:49:52 PM # 1.0.0.1119
