The Verge
S. A. Marshal
15 Jan, 2021
Hey! Look, it's me!
Not at verge
nor for your mercy,
and certainly not at urge.
I too dream
a presidential hope.
To ideate a creation
from deep kaleidoscope.
From within my ingenuity,
I colour the skies of Aurora.
I know how far I can go
to challange the Zeus' Pandora.
Look! It’s me,
not a roadside verge.
You may think to
not to merge.
For I too think
no life in you.
To create a stanza,
for rhythmic tempo
needs to beat a super-hit,
but it cannot be the you,
so off you go, shoo shoo.
And hey, it’s me!
Not at verge
but about to center
a time of surge.
Where you'll see
chants of my people.
My pride-vibrant in glory of ripples.
Lights and flashes,
stages that sounds
to see of my last
at Turin another shroud.
Feb 22, 2021
Feb 22, 2021 at 9:59 PM UTC
The Verge
S. A. Marshal
15 Jan, 2021
Hey! Look, it's me!
Not at verge
nor for your mercy,
and certainly not at urge.
I too dream
a presidential hope.
To ideate a creation
from deep kaleidoscope.
From within my ingenuity,
I colour the skies of Aurora.
I know how far I can go
to challange the Zeus' Pandora.
Look! It’s me,
not a roadside verge.
You may think to
not to merge.
For I too think
no life in you.
To create a stanza,
for rhythmic tempo
needs to beat a super-hit,
but it cannot be the you,
so off you go, shoo shoo.
And hey, it’s me!
Not at verge
but about to center
a time of surge.
Where you'll see
chants of my people.
My pride-vibrant in glory of ripples.
Lights and flashes,
stages that sounds
to see of my last
at Turin another shroud.
Request permission to use this poem