A new-a phone call-
a message from My Protector,
everyone yearns to be protected
loved,
missed,and live.
Days flashed into an alloy of a hut,
skins getting drier,eyes getting sharper
the tiles of my floor replace into new shapes
to give in to my wild desire.
Maybe I'm still in the wrong time,
or maybe it's my Karma, to live, and wait.
I suppose-
I shall never hear the sharp metallic ring
attached on the back door.
Aug 6, 2022
Aug 6, 2022 at 10:47 AM UTC
A new-a phone call-
a message from My Protector,
everyone yearns to be protected
loved,
missed,and live.
Days flashed into an alloy of a hut,
skins getting drier,eyes getting sharper
the tiles of my floor replace into new shapes
to give in to my wild desire.
Maybe I'm still in the wrong time,
or maybe it's my Karma, to live, and wait.
I suppose-
I shall never hear the sharp metallic ring
attached on the back door.
Request permission to use this poem