The House Of Shrouds Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
The House Of Shrouds
Sleeps
The House of Shrouds.
And
It be not night
Not night
Yet.
Though it be the dusk
Sleeps
The House of Shrouds.
Hear them pace
Up, down the steps
The landings
All floors
And on the roof
Post-dusk grey shadows
Abound.
No words
No syllable in writing
Yet
In between them all
Till Dawn
They haunt
A whole haunting civilization.
Sunday, July 26, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: death of a friend
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4/25/2024 9:51:54 AM # 1.0.0.1119
