Children of men
As white ghosts flock
Toward the tower
And its moving clock
Time the enemy
Fate its joke
The multitude
Upon Deaths cloak.
The silent eyes
That move no more
The rigid limbs
Upon a foreign shore
A secret place
In shadows lay
With the passing
Of another day.
Mortality
Its ticking grip
Its pallid face
Its bluing lips
To tremble now
In horror gaze
The step beyond
From lifes warm ways.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: November 4th, 2025 03:11
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 18
Offline)
Comments1
Such a heavy poem set in dramatic style it speaks as if out of Hades and rows with Charon's oars. A strong and powerful write.
thanking you, very much appreciated, I wasnt sure but decided to post
You are most welcome
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