PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

With unease, I follow 
the terror on terrace. 
The moon was sauntering on the spiky grill. 

Fugitive words. I wanted 
to take them home. It was 
a tipping pain. 

That was a brazen assault 
in my privacy. Leave me 
alone with my roses― 

I wanted to talk to them 
for a while, before I climb 
the rainbow to become artless. 

The muse sometimes leaves 
me behind. The body gives in, 
fighting off the daydreams.