The wind blows
gushing through
the night,
like an endless
stream,
rupturing all it finds
in it's sight.
The blood pale moon
shivers with fright,
clinging to the heavens
it once lit so bright.
The silver trees,
sparkling with their
diamond jewel of ice,
send a note of tingling
bells ringing through
the night.
The restless souls
whisper their prayers
to the heavens around,
no sleep for the helpless,
no pity for their pain.
On the dark streets
of men they walk in
disarray,
hoping to find shelter
to end this god forsaken day.
As they walk,
as if on air,
they call out names
of mercy and despair.
No staff to carry,
no proof of will,
searching for tomorrow
as they die a bit each day.
Wrapped in a shroud
of darkness,
they attend to the rising sun,
to disperse the clouds
of grief and to live
in a forever tomorrow
and forget that yesterday
has ever come.
-
Author:
Carmine Branco (
Offline) - Published: February 22nd, 2018 20:56
- Comment from author about the poem: Just another sleepless night of torment and reflection. For those who don't have a voice. For those who cry in the dark and in solitude. For those who's silence screams more that words can say.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 20
Offline)
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