One more verse. I am slow these days.


The woods


It is to the silent woods I want to go
when I struggle through sleepless night,
floating through all anguish that flow
like dark, hellish music I cannot fight.

The throbbing rush of bats that clone
in gloomy rooms of empty citadels
denies death its weathered bone.
The end is ringing with burning bells.




Poetry by Bob
Read 785 times
Written on 2007-03-16 at 22:48

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Karen Canning
this one is very stark, the image you left with the poem speaks also, so many good lines, your poetry just speaks to the reader, enters the soul and clings like the bat itself

huggs
karenxx
2007-03-24


angelwings
Alas with time one can but tell that
in all respite be tinglings of bells...its beautifuly flowed bob.
2007-03-17