Poetry

LAST CALL

Web of relations is delicate
Each string is made of trust
Broken strings can’t retain
Beauty of the web woven

Words can’t dress the wound
When hurt is not at all found
When love is a leasure’s play
Affection becomes one’s nay

True love knows being bound
Never it shows teeth ground
Conclusions when rule intuition
Excuses are found for reclusion

Divine bonds when are broken
Trust on affections is driven
Speech functions as knife
Deserting peace from life

@Raji❤