The lonely hour


Once again this lonely hour age lurks
between runaway clocks of dinky dying
and grisly voices from echoes of shovels.

Who can find whispering ways of water
walking its way to the fall where man
and failing moons tease valleys with wanton.

I'm lost, I'm alone,
I'm random, I'm bone.

Tie these watery waves that roll long before
I can hear seagulls and seashells whispering
in twilight trembling with time's finale.

I am lost.




Poetry by Bob
Read 584 times
Written on 2007-06-29 at 21:54

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Zoya Zaidi
I love this Ben!
"I'm lost, I'm alone,
I'm random, I'm bone."

((Hugs))

"I am lost."

love, Zoya
2007-06-30



Perfectly dire, dark, dejected.
One of the most expressive texts I've been reading for quite a while.
2007-06-29