A white round mausoleum
Blushes, like gaslight is its mellow moonlight
Sits in the palms of humankind
Amidst the lines,
Charioteer of our fate
And the backbone of life
On our blue planet,
Like the cadaver of some lonesome sibyl
Is buried beneath
Its fine regolith –
Achieved in billion years’
A niveous museum
Has its grit crushed in craters
Basic conjecture shouts out
And it vomits all the blame
On its own creator.
Its pang echoes
And the grudges
Garnished in delicate laces of velleity
Seep out
From the bruises
Of its hibernating heart,
This – A gradually disfiguring sandstone
Slipping away from its zone
Is this way angry with its God-Mother
That its face to her
It never shows.

Photo Credit: pinterest.com
Photo Credit: pinterest.com

Written for Wordle#18

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