H. Ray Davis

The Night

Words can seldom define the feelings before sunrise. The mind is a tomb of forgotten pain and pleasure  often buried or fortified beyond our reach. Long nights spent kicking the very covers that hold warmth give way to quiet utterance only whispered in the dark, the sum of your misery reduced to a mere sentence. Solitude has been a kind companion. My mind is a wasteland filled with far too many graves.

 

H.R. Davis

Comments3

  • sylviasearcher

    Yet in that wasteland, your other poems whisper of hope!

  • Claudelle DeLuna

    Great poem! HR Davis
    P.S.
    I like this poem as much as i like the others different style with great perspective, art in the eye of the beholder!
    šŸ˜Š

    • H. Ray Davis

      Thanks! Iā€™m not as grim as my writing. Lol

      • Claudelle DeLuna

        You are a great writer as you can say so much in small paragraphs.
        I truly appreciate your style!
        šŸ˜‰

      • Crystal Hope

        Your poem is well done. Fine work!



      To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.