Litres Of Blood

My litre of blood is ruined,
Inside a fancy is a shame,
And hailing shall obliterate
The many manners I have obtained.
Permanent help is nested
In trees of goodwill, expressions
Stagnate and sensible acts
Are commonly called.
My litres of fluid are reckoning
That health is an obstacle,
One fetches a disorder
Of the one you heard and hated.
Then do not bleed like the wounded,
For they land themselves in trouble.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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