Peace Of My Kind

The eyes of the wolf,
Prowling through the night.
In the middle of the woods.
Shiver through my spine.
Sweat on my hands,
Blood on my mind.
The page by my side,
Empty, deluded, and still.
It's the peace of my kind.

I wait for that drop of Ink,
Spilled carelessly,
With the Intent of killing,
These poor feelings,
Who barely get to scream.
I wait for the massacre.

This Is the moment.
Just remember about that blank page,
That awaits your revival.
To hold you when you're down or up.
When you feel the hate or love.
And When you don't have any words to speak about.
It just waits for another drop.

Poetry by Manish Pokharel
Read 217 times
Written on 2018-08-30 at 13:19

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