Solitude’s Bloodroots

yaskhan

Poetry becomes my wisdom
Subduing the melancholy
I bleed like a warrior
Make touch red to blue.

I catch a Freesia breeze
Holding fragrant peacock quill
To write my soul's graffiti
A carmine inked dream....


And then I find " a face in poetry "
In the amaranthine pause of my  breath.



# Dodoitsu

View original post

Comments are closed.

Start a Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: