God's Not Dead Poem by Satish Verma
God's Not Dead
My fingers slip
for hypnotism. The prophecy
comes true. Introspection begins.
What makes you
extraordinary? The imperial touch
wants to know the interior of a burnt heart.
The houses are moving
to envelop the mannequins. Sooner
or later the voiceless will speak.
Thursday, September 12, 2024
Topic(s) of this poem: introspection,life
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8/28/2026 7:58:11 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
