The twisted noun has crowned
Pages in an empty book
A melting dream he cannot touch
Like the snow which ambushed winter.
His heroes idols and vague gods
Passed without the need to call
Dirty glass..rain poised to fall
Moments he has viewed before.
A weary eye to skylight watches
Drifting clouds and hours die
Bedside lamplight forming faces
Loneliness in silent traces.
Phantoms from the woodworks weep
Crystal tears with pity keep
Fondness over years the same
Venetian stairways call his name.
Now in exile..faraway
Fading words which strode to say
I have my fingertips upon the edge of Heaven
Though all beauty it has flown.
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Author:
nephilim56 (
Offline) - Published: January 25th, 2023 09:09
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
Offline)
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