Watching from high above,
I understand the meaning of peace.
Gentle ripples surge in secret under moon's authority,
as clouds drift across, evening's mantle.
Sun sinks into the horizon
splaying every gold hue imaginable.
She will not sleep until all bow to her glorious robes.
In final, silent bursts of brilliance
she bids adieu, to sleep, until revolution of dawn recalls.
In a list
A contest entry
- Picture Prompt Contest by penman.
650 points, ended January 17, 2008, 9 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
Wonderful
Very well done. Best of luck in the contest
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