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: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
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
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