Nightfall Poem by Tom Billsborough
Nightfall
Coloratura of sunset gardens.
the last soprano of sunlight
Then fingers of the dubious night
With stalking shadows crying out
"Forever, " pull down the curtain
Of the tragic opera.
Senza tema d'infamia, I may whisper
But am I right to assume conclusion
To my Spirit. The currency of doubt
Was nurtured from an early age,
and like the weeds persist
despite the constant plucking
Of my reasoning,
And Chance may rule that I shall meet my Maker.
Tom. Part 1. You keep us on our mental toes, thank you for that. You never settle for mediocrity nor offer it to others. I struggled through Dante's Inferno several months ago. Then I was overcome with a huge desire to cast that man into one of those miserable levels.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 6:38:56 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Part 2. Anyway, your poem was way more effective and so much more poetic as a whole than Dante's epic and I don't have the slightest desire to fling you into any of Dante's brier patches. In fact this piece deserves a million 10's.