Tony M Walton


The Real Culprit in the Matter of Love


Walking alone one windless June night
fear looked at the clock and asked,
'So, was there love or no love,
and what or who is to blame? '

Ah - Indifference. Though born of love,
it has no lover, circling slowly,
patiently with dull eyes,
peering below at the growing
empty spaces between words,
then plunging down

scattering swirls of feathers,
leaving hope bewildered and blinking back
a million tears of rain falling on the
upturned face of the sea.

But so you emerge with quiet eyes and
draw the curtains to a rain fresh morning and
the surf smooths out the new pages of white sands.
And the soft roar of the day
begins.

Submitted: Sunday, December 29, 2013
Listen to this poem:

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (The Real Culprit in the Matter of Love by Tony M Walton )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. A Visit to the Unique Place, rohan bendre
  2. Yes, Mother Nature Teaches Bards..., Dr John Celes
  3. Tonic Pain, Soumita Sarkar Ray
  4. In the Absence of Light, F. J. Thomas
  5. Give me a drink, Diana Rosser
  6. White Power, F. J. Thomas
  7. Sweet Dreams, Sambanath Denis
  8. My unjust God, Nalini Chaturvedi
  9. continue counting..., Mandolyn ...
  10. the tail of poet, ademola oluwabusayo

Poem of the Day

poet Edmund Spenser

Of this worlds theatre in which we stay,
My love like the spectator ydly sits
Beholding me that all the pageants play,
Disguysing diversly my troubled wits.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]