• aditii_ 17w

    evenings to that poet

    when the golden in the sky,
    starts diluting in blues of sea,
    vintage quill, craves the chronic condition of that poets heart.

    the chaotic ballads sing a song of praise,
    when the golden in the sky,
    take a vow to never leave that poets hand.

    while counting the worst days,
    a pat from behind, on shoulder reminds,
    when the golden in the sky,
    rises into a tide, it can make a poet write a poem again.

    everything will be fine,
    those crippled wires will be fixed in you,
    when the golden in sky, will find it's way.
    ©aditii_