Where Do The Sprits Go? Poem by Satish Verma
Where Do The Sprits Go?
Disappointed.
I look at my hands to
read your destiny.
I fall to kiss the
moon dust. You were
my desire in sleep.
The spirit hovers
like the golden eagle
to rest the talons.
I stop the game.
Some cards had remained
undealt. I win, I lose.
You were not the
angel. You were not the mortal.
Where do I put my relief?
Friday, September 13, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/26/2024 12:39:05 AM # 1.0.0.1119
If the decedent has unfinished business they can attach Themselves to objects or remain behind for a long time. James