Peeped through the small escape
A gust of wind flows through
Vaguely floating city
A flabby dream
Of intervening red and orange hues.
Midst a swaying nomad
In quest of diverse facades
A handsome rose
Or an ugliest bush.
The thread of visage or words
He yearns for
To tie a living cadaver with lonely soul.
Lay low
To scream with,
Eyes full of agitated tears
'THE WORLD IS FULL OF PAPER'
'WRITE TO ME'
'ASK ME WHAT'S ON MY MIND?'
But the absorbed street
Of overpoured commotion
His words cut through
And befall all over
Not a heart
To collect
Or piece together
Whilst he departs forever.
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This poem is written with the idea of how a lonely person crave for company and sometimes just the words showcasing care for him. But his wish don't always come true.
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From The Anthropoid's Kernal
PoesiaAmateur Poetic Collection My literal passion is refugee from reality. I write when I feel low.
