The Charm
A smile, when faked looses its charm
Wind blowing across my hair seems foreign
The rose no longer red, darn no pain
Breaking of dawn starts nothing new
Blood flows
in veins and the clocks tick inside
Living could be dead
The place, the moment and the mirror is a lie
When truth no longer could hide
Standing on a
crypt is a creed
The soul cry for the lost crony
Living could be dead
A change that has no affect
For wars are
being fought alone
Though glory shared by all
Death is a curse when living
And past that realization
In a world,
in a wilder schemes
Rocks hard and sharp are mulish
Hear an encore for the farce
Where roads are so matted
Moon only shines down
Contributing Poet -
Kamal Singha
I am an editor at a media firm and I love writing.
kamalsingha@hotmail.com
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