Whispers Of Night
October.the time for my mind to wander
and pluck the wilted leaves,
all broken hopes, the deathlike dreams
elegy's icy and foreign streams.
yet my soul is brethered with the pain
as the body's lying in a grave,
the mist is covering my frozen limbs
a child of time, a child of fear!
still, the rust reflects the last beams,
of a sun, long gone..forgotten,
a pale golden disk of cinder's fading
as a final kiss upon exiled lips.
I'm just calling you by name; It's Death!
as you're my one and only lover..
the destruction of my soul, of my faith
October.Time of rain.Time of fate!
there's no turning back when you follow
Death's path on fallow grounds...
if there will be pain, I rather take it now
than live a life kneeled by regret!
what's joined by blood never tears apart
inside motionless rotten flesh,
there's still a heart that beats again
and an oath meant to be kept eternal.
I want to take your hand again, but..wait!
your name is written on a grave..
life perished, and nothing ever resurrects
October! time of rain.Time of Death!
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Comments about this poem (October's grave by Whispers Of Night )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(10 February 1970-)
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