Words Play Poem by Satish Verma
Words Play
Blending with the light,
as ancients did―
on the leafy path.
You turn your gun―
on an old skull,
with broken teeth,
to rewrite the murder,
without qualms. A sniper
would take an aim.
Untouchable, the years
roll by, sending echos
in the valley of tears.
A final stroke.
The blood stops in the veins
while the angel sleeps.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/18/2024 4:04:37 AM # 1.0.0.1119
You show great skill and promise