Night
She grabs and she gropes for the radiance before her,
Her fingernails scrape valleys of dark,
Throwing sinister strands of gloom about her,
The presence of light sends her reeling with curse,
Sneering and spitting her spiteful ballads,
She hoists herself up between mountains she's stable,
Casting ebony shadows she bellows at the sun,
Bragging her dark bitter song,
Living things stand frozen with fear,
Until no more one sees the lights gentle sway,
She'll not stop till it's done.
4 comments:
I fike the picture you paint. especially t efingers scrapping valleys. To follow the metaphor wouldn't it be strands of "hair" instead of strands of night?- since she is night? Anyway it's pretty good :-)
Yeah, probably. :) It was kind of a spur of the moment poem, so it's not very... thought.
out. :)
I would like to see a painting or a photograph that would resemble your poem. I liked it very much.
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