Blood it wept
From ink to page
A solemn quest
A hidden rage
Ribbons from
A darkening sky
A dim moonlight
A prying eye.
Upon the room
That sorrow seeped
From lonely walls
While justice sleeps
A distant friend
A moving clock
A solemn shadow
Who forgot.
Nature breathes
Life to the soul
From unsteady steps
Till we grow old
Its constant presence
About, around
Until our curtain
Touches ground.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: May 13th, 2026 01:34
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
Offline)
Comments2
A fine write N. It's too much for you - you've wept blood, or sweated blood, waiting for that No.7 bus. Could you try the No.4 bus instead? Or doesn't they go to Costcutters?! lol.
its a dilemma for sure, thinking of buying a bike lol
Such a great poem ! The first verse is my favourite!!
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