Son Shine
He kicked the moon,
Down the path;
And drank the water
Of evil's wrath.
Cold on his lips,
It echoed vile;
The journey now,
A holy mile.
Silent, the sun,
Bowed in relief;
Paradise is born,
With hope's belief.
YOU ARE READING
A Father's Story
PoetryCongratulations to our March 2018 Contest Winners Title Poem and Hand Prompt Winner - @MansiJain605 Prompt #1 Co-Winners - @Leontine_Willow and @HauntingAngel Clown Prompt Winner - @Ajay-Kumar Poetry Prompt Winner - @Jhayash-R Welcome to the March 2...
