Good night children

Violin winds whirl with hearts of snow,
white birches bow, twig strung,
at the sky's dark encounter.
Suburbia, evening solitude,
fulfils the abandoned day's fortitude.

Softly children's voices float
over warm chimney's recall
colliding with bedside visions
and wild coloured stories
of wintry fantasies and joy.

A breath of irrevocability
cloaks the dieing day,
dreams of ancient ships
sail into the hidden sun.
One more page is torn
from the calendar of craving.




Poetry by Bob
Read 931 times
Written on 2005-11-20 at 23:46

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Vixen's Cub
Very beautiful. I'm compelled to read it out loud to myself. It's absolutely marvelous. Bravo.
2005-12-02


Bobbie
very nice. You seemed to have captured what youth should be like
2005-11-22


Zoya Zaidi
Every word is a caress,
That evenly soothes my heart,
Every voilin string plays,
Slowly at the harp,
Ships enchored on the heart's shores,
Threaten to cut their anchors,
And sail along with you,
Far, far away...on the Seas!
2005-11-21


blackestdaze
"one more page is torn from the calendar of craving" -- i love that line. this is really good. :)
2005-11-21


Nathalia
This poem is my new favourite! It flows with every word.
2005-11-20