by Unknown
Dec 2010 366 Views 1 comments
She calls her nightime ....day
There she lay a broken soul
lost not herself inside the cold.
She calls night-time day..
She forgets her words,as not to say.
Cluching lifes eternal source
Like singing out the final chord.
Her child is warm,she lay between
The angels night,of eternal dream.
She calls the daytime grey
As she forgets her words that say...........
lost not herself inside the cold.
She calls night-time day..
She forgets her words,as not to say.
Cluching lifes eternal source
Like singing out the final chord.
Her child is warm,she lay between
The angels night,of eternal dream.
She calls the daytime grey
As she forgets her words that say...........
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Dec 2010
About this poem:
Just some internal thoughts of another..if that makes sense...Poems entered on these pages are copyrighted by the authors who entered them. They cannot be reproduced without the author's written consent. © Copyright 2001-2024. All rights reserved.
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