My eyes on that door the silent lane beckons
My fingers scrape that door
Nobody opens it any more
My eyes brimming the silent lane beckons
Memories flow; how many have walked these old streets
And how many do not any more?
From the inner world of my own inner world
Comes the answers of despair
Comes the images of you there
Sunlight and silence, people pass me by
In the cavern of the past some of this will remain
The present is now free from pain.
Copyright 2008 Rani Turton
Rani, well written thoughts on our minds torture us. You so right the present is true bliss. Bob
Right tones created for this poem.........made it sound a real classic......10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love the part 'my fingers scrape the door' truly amazingly thought... i am just 13 but seriously your poem it..mkae sme watch time