Ravine Of Abortive Bliss And Sorrows
From dancing with your lofty shadows I trampled and lost
The metronome of my shifting pace and the road I wallowed
As pernicious as losing the maps to your own penetralium
The dark conquered my impenetrable but open heart
The hysteria brought upon her livid lightning in my eyes and I raged
My infinitesimal voice ricocheted in your halls but are you estranged
From my voice, dear monoliths? Or was I lost in your wailing corridors?
The immense sky was a watchful eye upon every shift
Like a king in a game of chess restricting my abashed feet
And checking and rivaling every move in a wintery snare
Its glacial and hoarse whimper was an intimidating roar
Its watchfulness stalled the night in these impassable walls
That incarcerated my defenselessness - like an implored aegis
And sometimes like a fluently guised and malingering demise
In this hall, where I am everywhere but no longer hold existence
Disembogued of everything, yet tethered to everything -
A veiled allegiance to the inner burning of angels and demons,
A fortress for all the daunted hope, an albino blindness to mendacity,
A ravine of abortive bliss and sorrow devouring the insubstantial soul
And burying its involution to a death that will bore subsistence
A silver rope hang from the sky and its bony sheen beckoned to me
Like a ray of life in this ethereal death, a banister in this amorphous path
But darkness turned to light and it dissipated into the bright
The lighted wick was charred, its sputtering tongue blown away
With all the shattered dreams as the cold gnashed on my bitter bones
Alone and naked in a nameless and faceless void, I learned
That even the brightest of gold and diamonds succumbs to evanesce
Tiny droplets of the moon showered with milky phosphors
And set a gleaming stain in the sanctum of this ravine, like candles,
And my eyes, beleaguered from resentment, watched my own funeral.
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
Meditations Upon A Candle
Man's like a candle in a candlestick,
Made up of tallow and a little wick;
And as the candle when it is not lighted,
So is he who is in his sins benighted.
Nor can a man his soul with grace inspire,
More than can candles set themselves on fire.
Candles receive their light from what they are not;
Men grace from Him for whom at first they care not.
We manage candles when they take the fire;
God men, when he with grace doth them inspire.
And biggest candles give the better light,
As grace on biggest sinners shines most bright.
The candle shines to make another see,
A saint unto his neighbour light should be.
The blinking candle we do much despise,
Saints dim of light are high in no man's eyes.
Again, though it may seem to some a riddle,
We use to light our candles at the middle.
True light doth at the candle's end appear,
And grace the heart first reaches by the ear.
But 'tis the wick the fire doth kindle on,
As 'tis the heart that grace first works upon.
Thus both do fasten upon what's the main,
And so their life and vigour do maintain.
The tallow makes the wick yield to the fire,
And sinful flesh doth make the soul desire
That grace may kindle on it, in it burn;
So evil makes the soul from evil turn.
But candles in the wind are apt to flare,
And Christians, in a tempest, to despair.
The flame also with smoke attended is,
And in our holy lives there's much amiss.
Sometimes a thief will candle-light annoy,
And lusts do seek our graces to destroy.
What brackish is will make a candle sputter;
'Twixt sin and grace there's oft' a heavy clutter.
Sometimes the light burns dim, 'cause of the snuff,
Sometimes it is blown quite out with a puff;
But watchfulness preventeth both these evils,
Keeps candles light, and grace in spite of devils.
Nor let not snuffs nor puffs make us to doubt,
Our candles may be lighted, though puffed out.
The candle in the night doth all excel,
Nor sun, nor moon, nor stars, then shine so well.
So is the Christian in our hemisphere,
Whose light shows others how their course to steer.
When candles are put out, all's in confusion;
Where Christians are not, devils make intrusion.
Then happy are they who such candles have,
All others dwell in darkness and the grave.
But candles that do blink within the socket,
And saints, whose eyes are always in their pocket,
Are much alike; such candles make us fumble,
And at such saints good men and bad do stumble.
Good candles don't offend, except sore eyes,
Nor hurt, unless it be the silly flies.
Thus none like burning candles in the night,
Nor ought to holy living for delight.
But let us draw towards the candle's end:
The fire, you see, doth wick and tallow spend,
As grace man's life until his glass is run,
And so the candle and the man is done.
The man now lays him down upon his bed,
The wick yields up its fire, and so is dead.
The candle now extinct is, but the man
By grace mounts up to glory, there to stand.
poem by John Bunyan
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The Void
By Samuel Sweetnam
Cold is the Void
That is what we are not
That is where we are to go
That is what we are to become
Dark is the void
That steals the night
That fills the heart
Of the greedy man
Black is the void
That hides the lost
That feeds the beast
That hunts the good
The void is cold
The void is dark
The void is black
The void is torture
If the void is all
We are to become
Then what is left
Is there no hope?
For one small child
Born one dark night
Among the void
Consuming the night
He brought the life
He brought the hope
Some two thousand years ago
He brought us light
So remember this
My dear friend
Of the babe born
On Christmas morn
He brought the Warm
He brought the light
He brought the Love
Among the night.
poem by Samuel Sweetnam
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Can’t Feel Your Heartbeat, But I Can Feel Your Breaths
Hell fire and high heels –
Blue pills and backseats,
Needle points with track meet hearts,
Death rattles, and blood baths, amongst the dead heat.
Now I dance in the moon light,
Gold and good intentions pave my streets.
These words lost in notions of wrong and right,
A sad, sad day when Angels and Demons meet.
She is mental atrophy, emotional paralysis –
Love's sweet and unyielding cancer,
She is pandemonium at its worst, carnage at its best,
This woman is the devils dancer.
Now I dance in the moon light,
Gold and good intentions pave my streets.
These words lost in notions of wrong and right,
A sad, sad day when Angels and Demons meet.
I breathe her.
I need her!
I lust for her lies!
I thirst for her ways.
I crave her legs!
I'm fed by her sinful eyes!
I drink her dire secrets.
I'm nourished by her flaws!
Lost in the walls of her deceit.
It's sad, so sad when the demons creep.
Now I dance in the moon light,
Gold and good intentions pave my streets.
These words lost in notions of wrong and right,
A sad, sad day when Angels and Demons meet.
She is the catalyst of my demise –
The architect of my wayward prayers,
Jezebel seducing Samson,
The owner of all my lustful stares.
Now I dance in the moon light,
Gold and good intentions pave my streets.
These words lost in notions of wrong and right,
A sad, sad day when Angels and Demons meet.
poem by Caleb Crow
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I Built a Citadel to Burn
The superfluity of adamant nights and babel of storms
Tarried and wrecked the quietude of my sleepy home
Desperately I groped for a banister, for a reeling rope
A lynch for long abeyance or a pallid streak of hope
But this town is already a wraith of its own ghosts
And perish is near, unabashed to morph a colossus form
Brick atop a brick, a tourniquet of bastion I built
Endeavoring to feign the contours of a thousand mirth
And vie I did, to an assuaging forget but not to flee
From the peremptory entice of effulgent revelries
And a shadow I casted, never shall falter nor tilt
And becoming the verve of the citadel I built
The soulless lullaby of bulwark walls err shan't
Dark shall fade, storms shall beat and die to pant
A safeguard from the descrying coruscations of light
Sequestering with its shadows, unfurling many a terror
Of veritable sorrows that yonder facilely linger
And these walls, like sleep and lullaby, only lulls my horror
The corridors protract in a labyrinthine vast
Succumbing all echoing calls in the patina to rust
The lofty ceiling looms and jarringly taunts
To beguile you of depth, and of ravine haunts
Even the chandeliers tinker mendaciloquence
To superimpose the bliss I heed for defense
Outside the portcullis, nil can penetrate
Inside the halls, beckons of lone are desperate
Nary a chance the adversary could shuffle
To bring this cordon down to its graceful topple
Such aggrandized fortress perhaps can save
The king I made from a doggedly slave
As the king that I was exultantly revels inside
Comported by the hearth and his sovereign's stride
The coals of fire beckons in charred cinders
A crown of thorns once worn that never quavers
And of the present yet remote storm and dark forlorn
Inside his simpers and under his throne
The suppressing citadel throttled inside
His black and dying heart long put aside
Insensitive to the fray of the city and of his own
The phantoms roused from their stiff reckon
How sad was he in his contrived perpetuity
Filling the void by burying all that he was in a city
Secluded and protected it was, idyllic not quite
The sedations will ebb to fade out in the blight
And lone inside his walls of salient divide
A grave, a cage, succumbed by his own tide
And so tonight, despite late and futile
The king built a citadel to burn and born his plight
poem by Norman Santos
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Dark Days
My Life was on hold when you went away,
My hart like as i watched you walk away,
My soul cried out for you to return,
Lost in the shadows with no hope,
My days where dark and nights like pitch,
Fire in my eyes like the demons of old,
now i have seen you once again,
the light had returned, redemption at hand,
forever to be in the light of our love,
now i lay down and have the dreams of old.
poem by Tony Riyat
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The Guardian and BloodRose
BloodRose,
Rose of my love,
My love for Dark moon,
Dark as my heart,
Black as my soul,
And gave me my rose.
The rose of blood,
With petals soft and black,
Never as a rose so beautiful,
Grown not in light,
But under a dark moon lit sky.
Guardian,
Yes a guardian of BloodRose,
With teeth long and sharp,
Claws hard as diamonds,
Scales as dark as night.
My dear sweet guardian,
Guardian black as my heart,
Fire in your eyes,
Shadows in your soul,
A dragon of the dark moon.
A single rose,
With petals so fare,
As dark as my heart,
I now hold in my hand,
The rose of blood.
You are my darkness,
Fear of this love,
This love for you,
Love for darkness,
The cold shadows in my heart
That makes me yearn for you.
Now as you lay dying,
I hold a single rose,
The rose you gave me,
And as I hold it tight,
The thorns slice my hand,
Covered with blood,
My blood.
I have one fear,
The fear of death,
Symbol of my lost love,
Rose as dark as me,
Laying in a pool of blood,
Blood from me.
As I lay dying,
I remember my name,
BloodRose,
I am the rose of blood,
And I died of my own creation.
A creation of perfect beauty,
Petals dark black,
Thorns like small daggers,
Grown from my love,
My love for a dragon,
A dragon as dark as my heart.
Even in my death,
I think of you,
And the rose you gave me,
The rose that killed me,
The Rose of Blood.
poem by Nicolette Gonzalez
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The dancing whirling leaves
I will befall into my tomb
As a waning river falls to the sea
I embrace death the existence of ‘not to be’
As a child welcomes his calm night dream
I walked in the shadows of darkness and sorrow
Unfriendly and cold and alone
As dismally gurgle besides me
The bleak river desolate moan
The rise of the volleying thunder
The mountain’s lone echoes repeat
The roar whirl wind around me
The galling autumn leaves at my feet
I stooped in shadows of darkness and sorrow
Uncheered by the moon’s spangled ray
Not a friend that I love but is dead
Not a hope I have but have faded away
Oh Shall I rest in the tomb
Wrapped about with the chill winding white sheet
For the roar of the wind is around me
And the waving yellow leaves above my head
I heed not the blasts that sweep over me
I mind not the hail the storm and the raging sea
I blame not the tempest of night
They are not the foes who have banished
The visions of youthful delight
I hail the wild sound of their raving
Their merciless presence I greet
Oh let it be! Let me join these eternal elements
And roam the land and rove the vexed sea
Yet my fate is the roar of the wind engulfing me
And the piling reddened leaves at my feet
In this waste of existence and solitude, for solace
On whom shall my lone spiral call?
Shall I seek shall I fly to the friends of my bosom
My God I have buried them all
They are dead they are gone they are cold
My embrace no longer they meet or feel
Fall to the roar of the wind around me
The yellow leaves hissing in a macabre music at my feet
Those eyes that glanced love into mine
With motionless and cold slumber are pressed
Those hearts which once throbbed are no more in line
They are chill as the earth where they rest
Then around me my wan withered form
Let the pestilent gale beat
Submit to the howling wind around me
While the mocking leaves dance at my feet
Like the voice of the owl in the hall
Where the song of choir and the banquet ceased
Where the green weeds have mantled the hearth
Where raise the proud flame of feast
So I cry to the storm whose dark wings
Scatter on my eyes the wild driving sleet
Let the roar of the wind around me
And the dancing whirling clan leaves at my feet
copy rights 2010
Unrivaled Transcience
Tell me about the power of Babylonian Gods
The symmetry and geometry of their scintillations
The silver blood dripping on their immortal wrists
Do we dream of the pain evoking the pleasure of life?
In this dog eat dog, the crunch is that: we are bones
Sworn to become dusts when we are outdated by
The easy shifting of the moon's wanton penumbra
But you will remember me, I will never die before eyes
A pantheon of virile and avid serpents uprooted
The ephemeral pegs of their virulent fangs
And the bleeding came like a guest of honor
We knew it would come, so we closed our eyes
Tell me about the lore of the tress, the lure of the sands
Croon the words in my impassable nights and never tire
Like an aubade, like a lullaby, reel me deluded into life
Make stay, or astray, in the fringes of your shadows
Tell me of the ineffable boiling of the sternum
As it plunges into the void and ethereal fathoms
And let me tell my vicarious deceleration of sense
And the decadence that perched on my firmament
I will not open my eyes, I will hold my adamant gates
And we will hide in the improbable notches of day
Rolling like hushed thunders, coming with flashes of light
And disappearing swiftly as our pawned breaths
Tell me and I will close my eyes, even if I go blind
Even if we would have to die for this lie, just tell me
And haplessly hammer it into my shattered soul
Until I believe that we can contend with incandescence.
poem by Norman Santos
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Sonnet XIV
While I have tears that start into my eyes,
At memories of joys that we have known
And while my voice, still master of its own,
Is not yet choked with sobbing and with sighs.
While still my hand has cunning to devise,
A lover's cadence to the lute's soft tone
And while in understanding you alone,
I no more wisdom need to make me wise.
How could I want, as yet, that I were dead ?
And when these eyes have no more tears to shed,
My voice is hoarse and my hands lost their art.
When no longer can my tormented heart
Declare itself in love, then I will pray
For Death to blacken out my brightest day.
poem by Louise Labe
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Venom Void
venom of rejected has polluted and poisoned
manufactured lies where no smoke nor fire thrive
but not the heart of truthful soul the sacred seat
venomous mind slithered silently darkly on
devastating and destroying and swallowing
the harvest of the highest triumph to zilch
hollow empty hearts spreads its heart and wings
to capture more dark minds inito dark shadows
man is lost in a wasteland of firey warm flesh
of nothing in a nothing world of dust void
dark parasites of morals and fun pleasure
who shunned the light and conscience voice
for seconds of joy and damnation to life void
alas had the heart not wandered twinned
if the desires were caged and disciplined
if the mind had not lost its reason in sweetness
in the void of all voids sorrow would not sit
a lost sheep disappearing in darkness devastated
beseeching for redemption but non hears
venomous words burn now and etched forever
redemption in a furnace of truth and its infinite
wherever seek and fall and rise better being
venom tongue and mind lost in dungean
eyes closed travel in the labyrinth of dark
oh light of light touch my dark away
away away you dark away away
BY SHOKAT HABIB
2/25/2011
poem by Shokat Habib
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Death of the Old Sea King
'Twas a fearful night -- the tempest raved
With loud and wrathful pride,
The storm-king harnessed his lightning steeds,
And rode on the raging tide.
The sea-king lay on his bed of death,
Pale mourners around him bent;
They knew the wild and fitful life
Of their chief was almost spent.
His ear was growing dull in death
When the angry storm he heard,
The sluggish blood in the old man's veins
With sudden vigor stirred.
"I hear them call," cried the dying man,
His eyes grew full of light;
"Now bring me here my warrior robes,
My sword and armor bright.
"In the tempest's lull I heard a voice,
I knew 'twas Odin's call.
The Valkyrs are gathering round my bed
To lead me unto his hall.
"Bear me unto my noblest ship,
Light up a funeral pyre;
I'll walk to the palace of the braves
Through a path of flame and fire."
Oh! wild and bright was the stormy light
That flashed from the old man's eye,
As they bore him from the couch of death
To his battle-ship to die,
And lit with many a mournful torch
The sea-king's dying bed,
And like a banner fair and bright
The flames around him spread.
But they heard no cry of anguish
Break through that fiery wall,
With rigid brow and silent lips
He was seeking Odin's hall.
Through a path of fearful splendor,
While strong men held their breath,
The brave old man went boldly forth
And calmly talked with death.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Eyes In The Darkness
Like mangled black stones
in this forlorn dark night
these eyes ruminated
and grinded shivering
wailing infinitesimal resonance
for the ones riveted listening
for the unchanging hymn
But reading nebulous poetries
that will remain unwritten
is a thawing soundlessness
echoing a subtle noise
Like a solitary game of chess
switching from black to white,
white to black: an ouroboros
until there is no more difference
between triumph and defeat
Because when the quintessence
is pillaged in the aftermath
of jousting weaknesses,
the glacial and enshrouded soul
is slivered to regret
and unlearn the mechanisms
of looking past the night
And the sequins scattered
will intermingle asunder
like eyes in the darkness
with tears unheeded in
staring unwaveringly at each other
while the light is still out.
poem by Norman Santos
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To A Twelve Year-old Child
-A 12-year-old girl, who became despondent over her family’s poverty, hanged herself inside their makeshift house a day after her father told her he could not give her the P100 she needed for a school project.
-The government is taking responsibility for a 12-year-old girl who took her life because of extreme poverty but assured that steps are being taken to ease hunger and poverty, officials said on Thursday.
-News reports of The Philippine Daily Inquirer,2007
The deep shadows that enveloped your home
And never retreated since you were born
Became the light that illuminated your mind.
I sorrow for your death, my dear child
Your mother’s milk on your lips barely dried
And she is not tired from singing cradlesongs
I did not tell you that there is life…still
There is life beyond a pad paper and a pencil
that fathers forced into shameful indolence
could not purchase, even with their blood
This world did not demand heroism from
someone so tender and innocent as you
Because it owed you; you did not owe it.
I sorrow for your death, my dear child
But I must release the black garb soon
for your small grave is a large gift
to every cold, famished child like you
An intensely brilliant light for a world
that is too dark; yes, too disgracefully dark
for the blindingly clear sparks and lightning
emitted by charged voices hoarse from
traveling too much space in too much time
You are the voice of the unheeded loud voices.
Your grave is the commanding energy
that will rouse a nation groping in the dark
for its soul fatigued from hopelessness,
broken promises and aimless wandering
Resigned to a fate worse than death
For there is no hunger in the cemetery,
not even cold, in spite of its glacial ambiance
Your corpse is the chance at redemption
of them that wear the crown but never
rode the horse to the unspeakable places
where every human blight celebrates
victory handed on a silver platter by the enemy.
I sorrow for your death
It is one death too many
the death of a million children
that should end with your death
But I will not slur your sacrifice
The tears that flow are an amalgam
of crushing grief and a song of hope.
poem by Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot
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Bury My Soul
if i died today
it would take my pain away
no more in the way
with no more to say
so bury my soul
losing control
losing my hold
bury my soul
lost control
lost a hold
so bury my soul
take my mind away from the misery
take my heart away from the mystery
so bury my soul
losing control
losing my hold
bury my soul
lost control
lost a hold
so bury my soul
i looked into your eyes
and i saw all the lies
my hate is now my fate
the more i try
the more i die
the more i die inside
so bury my soul
losing control
losing my hold
bury my soul
lost control
lost a hold
so bury my soul
i left to rest my soul
i buried my heart in the dark hole
turn the page
begin the new chapter
i surrender
i surrender my soul
so bury my soul
losing control
losing my hold
bury my soul
lost control
lost a hold
so bury my soul
bury my soul
bury my soul
poem by Bobby Butterfield
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To Live Beyond The Edge Of Hope
To live beyond the edge of hope
Is to dangle daily from a rope
In a perpetual dance with death itself
Beyond this world and all its wealth
There is a world of blue and green
But to the dark eye its all unseen
A world of orange, red and yellow too
But from the rope its beyond all view
For from the rope there's shades of grey
And sleepless nights and endless days
And every now and then some light
But just enough to confirm the night
There was a time I dangled from this rope
At the edge of hell and beyond all hope
I lived my life, just hanging there
Crushed and broken, suspended in the air
Then Jesus came and cut me down
He raised me up to wear a crown
A pauper raised to walk with kings
A voicless man but now who sings
Of all the glories of the Lord
Who came with Word and deed and sword
And conquered hell and death and sin
Restoring joy and hope within
Now all the world is bright to me
No matter what my eyes can see
No longer dangling from the rope
I walk with Jesus, I walk with hope
And above the clouds I know its true
The sun shines bright and the sky is blue
And when a shaft of light appears
It warms my heart and quells my fears
Now if your dangling from that rope
And this lie cries out, 'there is no hope'
Cry out to the one who can cut you down
He will raise you up and you will wear a crown!
poem by Frank McEleny
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Cloudburst Of Romantics
They took the hike
He tasted the cold snow
Of the mountain top
She pumped and pumped
Her legs as she escalate
With the thinning air
Until they conquered
The lofty slope
Aghast, they panted
And spoke each other's name
They were at the top of the world
A perfect place to fall
Together, they filled the skies
With new born nebulas and
Took each turn to admire
Their lofty masterpiece
From her tiny drops of Jupiter
To his reigning ring of Saturn
They owned the universe
The blinding pole dance
Of their creation blinded them
Of the spilled milk;
A sap of life,
a premature death
The universe, their universe,
Continued to spun its yarns
until she was gravid
With stars
But he wouldn't
Consign to the risk
It was just his fix:
Star hunting
Still she wove and wove
The celestial dawn that brought
Their universe together
Only to discover
That while she sat
Engulfed by her dancing comets
He went on to collect
New constricted rings
For his assuaging fix
And in that nook of the universe
Where he was the center
She rocked out of keel
Devoured by the shadows
Casted by garish starlights
Laid before the judgment
Of Babylonian gods
A blackhole is being born
In this abortive bliss
That even the brightest stars
Their once redeeming universe
Could not light.
poem by Norman Santos
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Tonight I can write the saddest lines
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example,'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voide. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my sould is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Morpheus
Oh, Morpheus, give me joy till morning
For my forever painful love:
Just blow out candles' burning
And let my dreams in blessing move.
Let from my soul disappear
The separation's sharp rebuke!
And let me see that dear look,
And let me hear voice that dear.
And when will vanish dark of night
And you will free my eyes at leaving,
Oh, if my heart would have a right
To lose its love till dark of evening!
poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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A Fall Of Grace
Sometimes the world turns on you
Waters ravage your lonely shore
The sky offers no remorse
Beyond the abysmal pale
And God is nowhere to be found
No ones around to hear your cries
Cast your stone into the ocean
Fill your heart with silver and gold
Dear Light, hold me close
Fly away with my heart
Ill cross the roads
That you've paved for me
But I cannot find peace
In this fall of grace
My eyes are dry from the tears
I've seen the demons take away
All that has been gained
Let the water flow inside
An end to the sorrow
That plagues the frail strings
On the instrument of life
Soon screams will follow in the wind
Dear Light, won't you take my hand
Replace the death in my soul
Let the water bleed out
Dear Light, won't you lay me down
Cover me in sticks and stones
Crush my brittle bones
Dear Light, you let me fall
In this hollow disgrace
Let the tears run down my face
Dear Light, you are the downfall of my grace
poem by Matthew Peel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Premonition
DEAR heart, good-night!
Nay, list awhile that sweet voice singing
When the world is all so bright,
And the sound of song sets the heart a-ringing,
Oh, love, it is not right—
Not then to say, 'Good-night.'
Dear heart, good-night!
The late winds in the lake weeds shiver,
And the spray flies cold and white.
And the voice that sings gives a telltale quiver —
'Ah, yes, the world is bright,
But, dearest heart, good-night!'
Dear heart, good-night!
And do not longer seek to hold me!
For my soul is in affright
As the fearful glooms in their pall enfold me.
See him who sang how white
And still; so, dear, good-night.
Dear heart, good-night!
Thy hand I'll press no more forever,
And mine eyes shall lose the light;
For the great white wraith by the winding river
Shall check my steps with might.
So, dear, good-night, good-night!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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