I was birthed by sand storms
of heavy sad storms.
Born in sad thorns of huge horns.
Born in sacrilegious norms
of sad souls without forms.
Lost spirits mourn.
Tears shed in the morn.
Hearts shred still moaning.
Sorrows gunning.

Dark nights of broken dreams
Nightmares fight streams of peaceful sleep
Roaming streets like lost sheep.
Pain piercing.
Happiness forcing.
Consumed by anger.
Confused by danger.
I speak from the pilgrim of the dead causing cosmic confusion.
Cloud of emotional words
throttle my mind to suicide.
Beautifully hideous words
I vomit without omitting side
effect to dilapidated hearts.
I resuscitate dead flesh
With fresh breath of poetry.

By:Melvey koka(the surgical poet)
@ Copyright reserved
Sonador (the dreamer)
© Melvey koka