Words lose the intensity
in a long drawn act
where the climax and depth
numb the impact
Where the meanderings of verses
and the interwoven rhythms
only serve to prolong the sordid misery.

Words in their best forms,
do not haul back the lost ones
or those who have left us
They narrate, only the solemn recurring tales
of withering impressions they all once made
echoes that burn bright,
in the emptiness of a desolate silent night

Poetry by sagi
Read 150 times
Written on 2020-08-20 at 19:18

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