Whispers Of Night
The violet sky trickles..
in solitude, a cloud roams
at the end of the rope;
it stops.it's raining!
The sun-just a memory..
of a sour burning disk;
acid burns the red eyes
the dream dies!
Just another day..
few hours left; a cold smile
the blurry exile,
of a romantic grave,
covered in ivy!
But I will never see
the rising sun..
or hear the icy sound
of the drops falling
down.lost and found!
The disintegrated show
of your mind,
but you're born of water
and it takes you alive-
anytime.far and wide!
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Comments about this poem (Wanderer by Whispers Of Night )
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Edgar Allan Poe
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William Butler Yeats
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