WHERE THE BALLS OF HELL HANG LOW

Michael Edwards

 

 

WHERE THE BALLS OF HELL HANG LOW

 

You pull the strings the puppet moves

and takes you to the darkest path

where blood’s avenged by blood that’s spilt

and flows to where the dead lie still.

 

As ravens caw to moaning winds

with no melodic charm displayed

their throated song – a mournful hymn

and fear alone becomes the wraith,

 

In intervals of quietude

within the light of day  revealed

the scabs of memory are plucked

when twilight interregnum rules.

 

 

  • Author: Michael Edwards (Offline Offline)
  • Published: April 16th, 2023 00:31
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 13
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓

Receive the ebook in seconds 50 poems from 50 different authors


Comments +

Comments5

  • Goldfinch60

    Very emotive words Michael, I do hope though that the twilight becomes a light in your life.

    Love the artwork.

    Andy

  • 2781

    The times they are a changin.

  • orchidee

    Good write and pic M.

  • MendedFences27

    Graphic title. Wonderful words expressing the darkness before the light, when sorrow awaits the saving joy of life.
    Enjoyed the artwork as well - saw a little gecko fella in it - maybe I hallucinate.

  • Mottakeenur Rehman

    Sir🙏 The poem conveys a sense of despair and hopelessness, and it is not suitable for all audiences.



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