Hemlock


It hurts me, my poems
when you don't come in dreams.
Moonlight waits.

How devastated
was your faceless voice in dark!
The nightingale cries.

Like "la grippe"
the noiseless words leave the
night wounds in eyes.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem



This Poems Story

Hemlock