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Bottle In The Smoke

Let out bomb-like cry like a pinned dragon,
Opened it virgin mouth like a thirsty buffon,
Crumbled among oppositions and social dragon
In a ruffled struggle for wealth and honour.
It let out witch-like cry during it conquest for power,
It craved and mingled with 'Paul' and 'Silas',
Ran into the fame but out like a soil tiler,
With nothing to write home of, Not even with a 'Papyrus'.
It sailed all days through oceans of troubles,
He ran through miles like banished turtles,
Just in search of health and wealth clues.
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Bottle In The Smoke
Sunday, April 2, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: nature
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