Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
A Clean Murder
Standing on a beam,
shrine:
holding a black dawn,
my phoenix roving on dark river.
The bell still clangs;
I hear the footsteps.
A weird thought
spreads out on peripherals,
makes holes,
the undone communiqué
of a war
between knuckles;
the blind eyes
lift the fallen globe
of light.
I move from tree to tree.
Who was left unburned?
The sky was overcast.
poem
by
Satish Verma
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black