What is that, who lurks beneath the surface,
barely visible, yet without a doubt there.
Cloaked in the morning brume upon awakening,
though throughout the day, without thought to spare.
Only to surface when one is at their weakest,
late o'Clock, in the still of the night.
With it's constant chatter circling, dominating the mind
That,
what is normally beneath the surface,
takes it's flight.
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Author:
Draven (
Offline) - Published: December 19th, 2021 07:02
- Comment from author about the poem: Day 17. (I took some days off from the challenge)
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 19
Offline)
Comments3
Good write D.
Thank you!
This is superb writing Draven. Imho, your best yet🙂
Haha wow, really?! This hasn't been my favourite one so far. But thank you!
“ late o'Clock, in the still of the night.”
Powerful writing.
Kindest Regards.
Thank you!
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