The faceless heads
Bow just slightly
They glimmer in
The moonlight nightly
Their slender shape
And flowing hair
Beside the old church
Standing there.
An angels whisper
High above
Dreams its dreams
Where idols stood
Its 6 am
Through windows glass
An Autumn chill
Thoughts to amass.
An empty chair
Reflects no name
Its mere presence
On canvas framed
To hang upon
The wall of life
The faceless heads
Of sacrifice.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: October 14th, 2026 01:43
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 45
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Carlos Alberto BUSTILLOS, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments4
Good write N. Yes, fellow waiting passengers at bus stop become so familiar - seen them for so long - that they become almost faceless. lol.
We are so used to each other and been there so long lol
Norman this one reads so well with its rhyme and meter. After three reads I decided that it can be taken various ways and that flexibility makes it have even greater appeal. Nicely done my friend and a fave
Most kind my friend, thanking you always very much appreciated
Most welcome Norman
A very strong poem dear friend 🙏🏻🕊️
Thanks, much appreciated my friend
Norman, there's something genuinely unsettling about this one. I can't quite decide whether I'd want to investigate further or get the hell out of there! LOL! Either way, you've got my imagination working overtime. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
I see where youre coming from my friend, thanks and much appreciated
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