I often see your ghost
Amidst the vines
Amongst the rubble
Open hands of times
Split second
When sun rises
A moment when
Moonlight shines
I often catch a glimpse
Through tears in my eyes.
The copper plaque
Now turned green
In mystery of
What should have been
Its hidden letters
Etched with skill
Forever lost
Now moments kill.
The tinkling of
Distant bells
Fall gentle as
Satin snowflakes
Quell
The echo of
My grieving soul
Realising now
I am the ghost
It is I
Who will not
Grow old.
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Author:
nephilim56 (
Offline) - Published: July 5th, 2025 03:27
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 19
- Users favorite of this poem: Damaso
Offline)
Comments2
Sad and somewhat haunting in its message of sacrifice and impending loss. Well done
much appreciated, thanks
Wow, beautiful. I'm speechless, I just enjoyed it. Thank you so much for sharing. Best regards.
you are very kind, appreciated and thanking you
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