Roasted Blisters

Just a small piece of writing that, i wrote after listening to the story or maybe the feelings that he was carrying inside him.

It was a pond 

For he walked by the shore of time tides 

Things he captured, for him to remind 

There was a thing that was treasures, for the time for him to revive..

He was no wonder, a man of care 

Perhapes, the life gifted him a sack of nightmare 

He couldn't sleep, he couldn't believe 

For the course of affection, he was having blisters of despair.. 

A hope of shade, under the boiling sun 

A hope of sail, on the pebbels of carved paths 

A hope of few droplets, under the thirst of love 

A hope of hand, in the high tides on broken shafts.. 

For the silent shores, were the scroching paths to his blisters 

Every breath was, the aflamed memory 

He was alive but, not living 

His every thought was scary story.. 

He was a lost kid 

Shouting high for a support 

For his pain was too devilacious 

The only love he ever got. 

He was a starving chrub 

Just, of a silly natter 

He was a pan of sweets 

Now turning bitter....

Author's Note

A request to everybody, please let me know if there is anything that is mistaken or anything that could have made it better.

thank you

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I saw now weakness in the poem. I like the way you led the reader into thoughts in the poem.
"He was alive but, not living
His every thought was scary story.. "
The strong ending made the poem complete. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[Tasha]

This was beautiful. Amazing write.

[Andrea Vargas]

You made my heart sing.. Beutiful peice