A man in the night, sound-minded,
His wife at his back, on a bike.
Feared with his fearful pasts,
Anguished with his lost lasts.
The one alone in the street,
Passed in the very last of his chores.
I measured, his mind was frighted,
Maybe his last long be his needs.
Vanished in the dark eyebrows of night,
Maybe it was his last flight.
The flight again pushing him,
To the fear, he saw last time.
There are 2 comments
The writer has a great vision of depth of life very impressive
Thank you so much, Ravinder. I’m glad you liked this post. Will you consider subscribing to the regular newsletter from The Writers Age?
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