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Death was not Safe
Folder:
Satish Verma Endless, this was a
romantic murder, in the orchard
of berries blue, black and red.
The prophets will not
return. I will carry fireflies in
my folded hands for the rival darkness.
The pain deepens. Community
was disintegrating. Newborn words
try to overrun. I look at the stars.
I have been reading Poetry
I have been reading Poetry for fifty years, as of this past April, 2023, but I cannot explain either the impressive power for the definite effect of these words that you present in nine short lines. I have fallen behind in my reading again, largely due to my medical situation, but I sure do want to catch up now.
And I always love your subtle references to the stars.
Starward