A candle evanesced the dark,
The street lamp muttered a lie,
Whispering in the ravine of uncertain times,
The timbre key trembled,
Withered under the caress of her fingertip.
A pin dropped,
And highs and lows arose,
Her vocals stretched out in the tunes of dubiety,
While she sang,
And he listened.
YOU ARE READING
Warts For All
PoetryThis book contains poetries mostly related to tragedy, which I have written in the most random times, when penning down poetries would possibly be the last thing one would think of. So I never thought of letting those out to the world. Nonetheless...
