Tuesday, April 26, 2022

A Poem Draft


The children are not playing now,
their voices long since still.
The world now lies in sleep like grave,
lacking thought and will.
The gripping night, devoid of light,
now blankets field and hill
as shadows filled with sorrows fall
on river, stream, and rill.

The silence of the nightfall
buzzes in my trembling ear.
The wind that blows around me
speaks of chill and pain and fear.
The breezes call through empty halls
for lost loves, gone but dear,
as shadows filled with sorrows fall
on rivers far and near.

The water in its cataracts
weeps with a griever's moan;
it murmurs in its memory
poured over silent stone
of things that die and are gone by
like blood upon the bone
as shadows filled with sorrows fall
where rivers flow alone.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Please understand that this weblog runs on a third-party comment system, not on Blogger's comment system. If you have come by way of a mobile device and can see this message, you may have landed on the Blogger comment page, or the third party commenting system has not yet completely loaded; your comments will only be shown on this page and not on the page most people will see, and it is much more likely that your comment will be missed.