Moon Poetess.
hands flicker, the smokes hurries
And insignia like ice blows in appearance
So seated and commanding twisting joints.
Powers, so she use and sleep.
Cross like lights, like crowns.
And in moon, she exploit simile.
pair of simile, like smile.
married to a poet of the sun.
Seated in a throne, scrutinizing expected writer.
o' poet your tones are failing
Your flood is quited.
Take not my gown for a clown.
In this moon there is peace.
And my ink is agreeable to a moon cave.
And the election has ended.
Yet you are the poet.
No truth is bad as a poetess been a poet.
Posted to bright stool.
and good stew.
poem by Ebi Robert
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
