Poems

In Dark red shapes


For all riddle spilled,
He sat there to bleed
In Dark red shapes:
Making words and phrase
Upon clean white mass.
Perusing the spilled,
and the endowment.

Though,
Screeching something loud,
Pen and paper fail,
To shape words of heart.

And always, as always,
He leave it as a question,
For reader to be cautioned.
His Resultant is an unsaid,
Never gonna be limbo.

Again,
For others wasn’t there,
To listen through his soul –
Heart spoke to head,
Paper spoke to pen,
fingers danced to Screech.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s