14 january 2018
The Trappers
There was left no middle,
of the path. It was a washed-
out theme and
negative numbers.
No bounce in the steps.
You were cowering in terror
of tomorrow. The fear
overwhelmed the alp.
It was a family feud,
from ashes to bones.
The mixed cadence was sending
the wrong signals to the walls.
The voices now come on the street,
for traditional wars, in
change of seasons. It
was raining out of turn.
27 april 2024
By KissesSatish Verma
26 april 2024
2608wiesiek
26 april 2024
The EntitySatish Verma
25 april 2024
2504wiesiek
25 april 2024
QuartzSatish Verma
24 april 2024
The End StartsSatish Verma
23 april 2024
Three poemsAdam Pietras (Barry Kant)
22 april 2024
Echoes TravelSatish Verma
21 april 2024
od wewnątrzsam53
21 april 2024
2104wiesiek