|
Email this Poetry
|
Add to reading list
For the time being vision
In the grounds of belittled dark prison
Smells nothn but the stare! Hate
Mourning on his faith
The burnt soul had water it fled
Closing the eyes
still nowanting to fight....
Flashing back the memoirs
The dooms n the demurs
Hope the work of rising crane
Ice to the last buring flame





