The poet
A silent oath
Words that rest
Beneath his cloak
Scattered pages
Some that bleed
The passion spilled
A lonely dream.
The dark road
At nightmares end
Filled with phrases
Their voices send
Melody filled
Vibrating sweet
The foreboding figure
Upon an unknown street.
It is true
The oath is screamed
Mouthed in silence
Upon its knees
Its heavy burden
Its dark ring eyes
Its fallen idol
Dies in sighs.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: March 20th, 2026 03:40
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 31
Offline)
Comments3
This poem to me speaks of poetry being born out of pain and suffering. Well written
much appreciated thanking you
You are most welcome
Good write N. How's Costcutters?! lol.
not cutting prices thats for sure lol , thanks for reading
We write our words from many ideas and occurrences in our lives Norman, we must keep writing.
Andy
that is so true, thanking you for reading always much appreciated
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