A song lies half remembered,
midnight skin is fashioned into
swift angelic silence as the
music of magnificence - the one
I drank from your angel soul
surges through the mountains
of a buried bitter night.
Amid the awakening twilight, the
evil softly creeps, strips the
symphony bare to sing of a glory
once snatched from broken fingers,
lays his head close, and prays
the secret will never be foretold.
Author notes
I have no idea what this may be about! Make up your own mind. Almost a first draft. Hope I managed to fit all the word bank in.
Comments
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I thought it went very well and think i would l like to see more from you and it was short and to the point ,
so maybe you dont but others can take that and make it there own , thanks keep on wrting on , your doing swell, boy , never thought I would use that word. -
Absolutely! You did a marvelous job writing this fine poem... and it sounds very clever and smart.
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