Inventory Of Pain

Lying on bed of
thorns, you revoke the curse
of moon to remain amputee.

This was signature
therapy to become secular.
You rub the side of flame.

My dissent was
natural. Cannot speak any lie.
Will listen to my ethos.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem

This Poems Story

Inventory Of Pain