The Mouth

The venery of lull,
Ere, a falchion of ire,
On the second, breathing,
A bomb, poisoned, forsooth.

Words, passing whizz in air,
The hearts make feeble.
Indeed a stigmata, enraged,
Never can be returned again.

Kindred, glittering between words,
And pinching pain cruel,
Exuberant and glares through devil,
Silent emblem of rude demise.

Impish sentiments, irreversible,
The zillion of motes curse,
Atrocity thrived in might,
Of the sound, made by mouth.

-Osanda Janandith Thenuwara-

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s