Fury of the night

Never call the raging fury of the night
by the windy euphemism
cessation dies to seed.
When darkness enfolds
all that you once did treasure
and flawlessly follow into the coming
it is but the desperation of a spark
that haunts your expectation.

Willow wishes at the banks
of wishful thinking
keep your vows intact.
The bending of searing love
shifts from one soothing stone
to another vantage point
far beyond the scope
of no return.




Poetry by Bob
Read 628 times
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Written on 2009-07-08 at 00:03

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I have visited this several times and what I like about this poem is that I get several things out of it. Something new just hits me because it contains so much. Great job.
2009-07-15


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2009-07-14