Night

The night's assault is constant,
the fleeting moment
that whispers the present
on its way
before the rain.

The gathering of to be
is a battle
with dormant denial.

I is like electricity,
like flittering fire
feeding continuation.

Night is a voice
in a dark well
where you face you.




Poetry by Bob
Read 598 times
Written on 2011-05-14 at 02:34

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