Treasure Island

Dawn Eve Bradley


AN ECHO OF WIDE NIGHT


The room is turning slowly away from the moon,
and rain is running down gilded glass,
weeping your name.

The melancholy storm is calling you,
casting shadows of gloom to the darkness,
whistling and rumbling a low lament.

How long are these dark and dreamless passages to sleep?
And when will the wounded night be still?
So restless in your absence, I move
with every tempestuous moan,
entreating entry at my window.

Submitted: Saturday, September 14, 2013
Edited: Monday, September 16, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Chorus of the Soul; The International library of Poetry (2000) , Waterman Press, USA

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