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HURT

Hurt

www.facebook.com/WRRPoetry [Hurt]

The breaths that foamed in my haemo is arid
My soul, to death, is married.

Blackness, is the eyes of my emotion,
I smile at the noon,
To the soothe in the arms of rest in the grave

The dancers in that realm stretch to fetch my wrist
Sympathetic gestures down here seize the flow in our communes

Tears mean I’ll stay
Silence says I’ll stray

In the lines I see the hem of you faking my eyes in the above
Yesterday! Oh! That beauty in your purse
The hands that swum the night beam

The manly might in my voice, your NO has rumpled to Celine’s soprano.
My clarion wailings will haunt the next arms in the air

These heaves and grief will white the clouds stalking me
But in my eyes you roam

January’s summer was our emerald,
Now on that same spot I spill my heart

Take your shadow off my left breast
And let my tears sit to rest

The dusk rubbing the saliva of our kiss
Should hang their perhaps for eternity

Written by: Goodnews Mememugh Karibo
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson

Author: admin

I am a member of the WRR editorial team.

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