The unguided hour
Stands silent
Clouds frozen
In a rigid sky
Alone within
A vacuum
Unpassioned
Stand I.
The lights
Of the street
Stand lonely
Unmoving objects
Of fire ablaze
Cold as a portrait
Unveiling
Its nature caged.
Gutter garbage
Stands to attention
The rain no longer
To flow
Its as if the moment
In horror recoiled
A sad violin
Without a bow.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: January 4th, 2026 03:46
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 40
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
Somewhat surreal this poem in metaphor casts a cold and rather sterile image causing me shivers and that is enough for a fave
so kind, as always thanks and much appreciation
You are most welcome
Aww, get a bow for it quick, and play it loud enough to drown out my shrieking - my singing, that is! Never mind if ya play out of tune, cos it'll sound better than me! lol.
And - do they say to you, as they say to me? Is that you singing, or is it two cats fighting?!' lol.
3 CATS LOL
Ooh lol.
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