The ruins in
The mild night air
The roof it glistens
Moonlight bare
The opening which
Was once a door
Now harbours shadow
A boardless floor.
The gentle trickle
Of running stream
Nearby the sound
Of resting dreams
One eye open
To a moving world
The other closed
To fantasy stirred.
In historys pages
A gentle lull
That pours a drink
The glass now full
Endless memories
Stretched like twine
Within this night
Embracing time.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Online) - Published: July 16th, 2026 03:20
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Online)
Comments2
Absolutely stunning and is quite how I felt after watching the England match last night from my home in Italy. 🌹
Thanking you friend, always much appreciated, the best side won, more quality players sadly
Very lovely it takes one to a dream world and fantasy that seems to stretch and twist memories for better or worse. Nicely done
always appreciated my friend, thanking you
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