Avoiding The Virtue Poem by Satish Verma
Avoiding The Virtue
In moments of hubris,
of artificial hip,
the most unknowable thing was
the blood thought.
An invisible ink, of late
marks the error
of autumn. A lone survivor
of leaves of time, would not
break the word.
The donated eyes will not
see the dreams. You can
boil the bones to get the truth.
Somewhere a guilt prospers.
It is what you don't think.
Friday, June 3, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/6/2024 11:28:01 PM # 1.0.0.1119
