PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

On a hollow path 
you had failed 
carrying the loaves of bread 
in biting cold of politics 
scaring the lips. 

I was standing near 
the dawn in praise of dark. 
The sharks were coming. 

Here goes the marble floor 
for drowning in black blood. 
The fire between the palaces 
was eating the golden thighs. 

I think flowers have gone 
to drink from the little ponds 
near the escaped souls 
of scribes and guns.