The hand of night
Holds a beating heart
Trapped in love
A painful time
Stretching from
Loves bitter stain
Upon the soul
Of lifes sweet pain.
A rose of red
With stabbing thorns
Blood to flow
Upon the storms
Of battles wave
To ebb and flow
It is the way
Of life we know.
Midnight weeps
With tired eyes
A burning lamp
A devout shrine
To worship that
Which slips away
A turning page
Its words to stray.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: October 5th, 2026 02:14
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 36
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments4
I love the meter of this poem. My favorite lines :
"Midnight weeps
With tired eyes"
I feel that phrase having been there before. In its sadness it speaks to me my friend. A fave
Most kind, thanks and appreciation
Pain and beauty do seem inseparable very much like two sides of the one coin of life. A joy to read 🙏🏻🕊️
much appreciated my friend, thanking you
Most welcome, friend, as ever 👍🏻🙏🏻🕊️
Norman, this has that late-night feeling when sleep isn't happening and your mind decides it's the perfect time to revisit everything you've ever loved and lost. Thanks, brain. 😂 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
much appreciated read my friend, many thanks
Good write N. Ahh, still at bus stop at midnight due to non-arrival of bus? lol.
yes, still here, ive grown a beard 3 foot long lol
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