Art of Cimeries

Pitter Patter.
Footsteps.
Pain shatters,
Tossed into the depths.

Freezing cold.
Not cold, but breezy.
A new world unfolds.
Nice and easy.

As the fresh scent
Of grass and dirt
Fills the air. So too the crescent.
So too the stars that’re birth.

The nature of malice
Slides off the mind.
Purify the chalice
In soul to kind.



Poem By Sanjeev 'Cimeries' Retnasingam