By the window


The darkest hour glass recall,
exhumed by a mirror night horizon,
not yet risen. A breeze
feeds on street anguish, the moon is lost,
straw and terror breaks the afterbirth.

A war of silence may seed the coming
of long night wave to the tears
good bye nonetheless harbors.
The longing for a you
is a dying man's breath,
walking his shadow
to deep down .




Poetry by Bob
Read 524 times
Written on 2011-06-09 at 23:26

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