19 july 2014
THE END
Lines on forehead are deepening.
No signs of abatement
of fire in our bellies.
The hunger we inherited
is only comforting
the mouthless.
Broken laughs.
Strange bedfellows
chopping off the murals from the lips.
A body rots,
stinks.
Maggots fly.
Negotiations are still on.
Who will dissect the legend
to find the cause of death?
Like a clay model, a soldier breaks.
Satish Verma
23 december 2025
wiesiek
22 december 2025
Eva T.
22 december 2025
wiesiek
21 december 2025
wiesiek
20 december 2025
Anthony DiMichele
20 december 2025
Anthony DiMichele
20 december 2025
wiesiek
19 december 2025
wiesiek
19 december 2025
Jaga
19 december 2025
steve