Ancient wings
Have taken flight
In cupped hands
To lull this night
To fantasy
Its braided cloth
Sweet upon
The lips of gloss.
The secondary
Hallucination weeps
With ragged tears
Its soul to keep
In passiveness
A mere thought
A sadness
Fear caught.
Nightmares echo
In silent stare
The hooded figure
Within its lair
Darkness
Its face given
To walk the hallways
Not of the living.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: August 1st, 2025 04:08
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
- Users favorite of this poem: Damaso
Offline)
Comments1
The images presented in this poem haunt the mind and in its darkness from the shadows emerges phantoms of thought. Nicely crafted with rhyme
very kind, thanking you, appreciated
You are welcome
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