Fragility of a fickle mind.
The love we miss, the pain we hide.
The kiss of goodwill, in the mist of dream.
The serenity, in prayers, we find.
Living of morale. on food for thought,
None would guess, the slimy me.
Alive in rags, parched and torn,
Nocturnal, awake in a broken yatch.
The pain unsung, in verses uncouth,
we hide behind the etiquette, the veil.
The love was lost, in the battle fought,
for years, scars won’t heal. …Read More