Our satellite was ochre
As it seared the eastern sky
Just like a red hot poker
Going straight into your eye
Attaining its gradation
As a harbinger of hell
From the smoky conflagration
The west had failed to quell
Determined not to languish
In the labyrinth of my mind
I disavowed all anguish
When I left my yoke behind
And sought a new direction
In the confines of a car
While gazing with conviction
At a brilliant shooting star.
Are You Reading Me?
No comments:
Post a Comment