nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson)

TOUCHES GROUND

Blood it wept
From ink to page
A solemn quest
A hidden rage
Ribbons from
A darkening sky
A dim moonlight
A prying eye.

Upon the room
That sorrow seeped
From lonely walls
While justice sleeps
A distant friend
A moving clock
A solemn shadow
Who forgot.

Nature breathes
Life to the soul
From unsteady steps
Till we grow old
Its constant presence
About,  around
Until our curtain
Touches ground.