"scrotching" poems
All of them words
I know they are going to heal you ,
Because they are going to kiss you ,
But whom would you like to take them kisses from ?
One of them is blue and the other one is purple , perplexed ,
I hope you won’t mind the green too ,
But the red one ? that might devast your lips , pinks too .
I know you are feeling better now ,
but you don’t still know about the yellow ,
That raises a sun rise into you ,
And , maybe the sun is warm ,
Not scrotching but irritating ,
It might keep you in circles of hallos ,
And now I know you are thinking ,
You don’t always like the paradox , do you ?
What do you think heart always peace the mind or piece too ?
And now you are rubbed in every corner of your conscious ,
you don’t like questions while you are thinking , do you ?
The third question , I am sure it boiled you .
And since you are boiled you are not going to speak but smile ,
And it could be cold or childish both ,
Whichever the moment demands ,
But wait , have I told you about the purple one ?
It ripples and tears the heart ,
The purple is the darker of them I have mentioned ,
Poisonous as it loves too ,
Loves without propaganda and agenda ,
The theories are difficult so .
Now you are rubbed and scratched ,
You didn’t want it this way, do you ?
The fire which burns the slowest burns the most ,
It can even not be the brightest ,
Like a flickering cricket on you .
Still what it shows is indifferenceness ,
And the price for love can only be love ,
Isn’t that ?
©
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 11:31 AM UTC