The clocks hands
Weary stop
Eternal midnight
Dreams to hop
From face to face
In rolling waves
Place to place
Voices crave.
Release from
The towers myth
The pining love
Of maidens kiss
The castles forte
Aging stone
Strong and cold
Ghosts of old.
A bitter moon
With rasping breath
Meets hard granite
Stars in step
Well worn stairs
By many feet
Dreaming upon
Midnights street.
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Author:
nephilim56 (
Offline) - Published: July 22nd, 2025 03:14
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
- Users favorite of this poem: Damaso
Offline)
Comments1
The witching hour, zero hour, dead of night a haunting poem of darkness and time of change. Lovely
MOST KIND, THANKING YOU
My pleasure
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