PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

To the folds of your pillow,

forlorn whispers -- imparting night,

casting shadows from the deep,

lost souls haunting evening's quiet.

Voices erupting in lonely self,

with usher to darkness of own,

all passing through ebon skies,

sum of bleakness never known.

Dwindled hope in sorrow's reign,

the will of dismal holding fast,

lends no answers to questions why,

moment's reprieve is all that's asked.

Enshrouded within depression's depths,

tightly bound by its lengthy sighs,

follow the tears pursued by turmoil,

then pitch drapes across the eyes.

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To the folds of your pillow,

darkest whispers -- bringing night,

with wakened shadows -- denying sleep,

a weary soul haunts evening's quiet.

© C.E.Vance