The midnight corridors hum sighing songs,
shades of lost waves of laughter.
The open corridor; wings of despair
flap across the tender sky.
The jingling of dancing distress
upon shattered souls—
the moonbeam through the broken window grills.
Some fainted glories, some bitter cries
in the blank flames of quietude
echo to God when night falls.
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A/N: It feels scary when night falls, doesn't it? Quiet and the continuous song of cricket! Gosh! Anyone? A vote, please? I'm shivering in fear!
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the slow art of breathing bitter
Poetryslow dancing love and pain in the midnight chorus of liquor-washed autumn green ... || a constellation of destructive poetry ||
