Mud Poem by Seer Garth
Mud
Blood is churning ever slow,
My impotent moan is growing tall.
Yet, lights and sound are deeply vibrant
In the clear mist of London air;
I would say I'm blessed with life
If not the heavy ball of mud inside
That grew from spores of this dirty light.
Insane, death is weaved throughout.
Must I fade inside and out?
death is weaved throughout. good one. I invite you to read my poems and comment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
4/23/2024 4:58:30 PM # 1.0.0.1119
A delightful poem about lifes struggle. Keep wtiting.