I bow my head, before the dead departed souls,
Listening to their names as sadness tolls.
In the stillness of night, their sorrow rings true,
Longing for remembrance from me and you.
Hail the great Roman Jewish King of old,
Who crafted architectures with stories untold.
Yet forgot to heed the cries of the meek,
Coffins now rest, awaiting the rebirth they seek.
A raven pecks at the soil with a knock knock sound,
Crowing between the living and dead ground.
I lower my head to the edge of despair,
Where truth and lies mingle in the time's air.
Tomorrows come without a bright sun's gleam,
Faces dimmed by shadows, lost in a dream.
Each tear sheds a stroke on sorrow's canvas painted,
My heart bleeding, their pains untainted.
Parents lost in a hunger for life's breath,
Recall the moment of a painful death.
The dead cry in a lullaby of sorrow,
Stuck in a starry constellation of morrow.
Recalling the madman and professors sage,
Crafting words on wisdom's page.
To understand the depth of their tale,
For every webster reader and scholar to unveil.
The realm of the deceased where rest eludes,
Their mournful cries echo through dimmed moods.
A disheartening effect, a quest for perfection denied,
Now wandering among the dead with quiet pride.
Elenore's call echoes in the night,
Beatrice lifted from Hell's eternal blaze.
Jezebel's dreams entwined with prophets' whispers,
I pen cryptic memoirs, my heart a listener.
Creating ciphers with poetic rhyme,
Longing for answers hidden in time.
Through the veil of the raven's eye,
Hector's lost view tales bidding goodbye.
As Homer penned Achilles' fate,
Echoes fill my soul, a heavy weight.
Voices cry out to be remembered,
Even Dante's rage, passioned a contender.
Using anger to tip fate's scale,
Names etched in time's tale.
Each night I write and feel the dread,
Vigorous, raw, my eyes unfed.
The dead's cries scratch to the bone,
Yearning for a peace unknown.
Charon guides them across blood's river red,
Lost names cry out from their bed.
Lonely nights with cries so dark,
Called to share tales, a heavy remark.
A gatekeeper to their silent pleas,
Heavy with empathy, emotions seize.
No food to fill the void of cries,
Echoing in my ears, truth defies.
The raven's call a haunting sound,
Black Knight prowls on shadowed ground.
A lonely rider in the dark,
Fear's presence ignites a spark.
Nightmares woven into reality's thread,
Horror leaping from pages unread.
Paul Reubens of a bygone age,
Hell's embrace, a somber stage.
The damned tread twist life and death,
Fate's hand held in light and breath.
Future's path tearing the world apart,
Beauty hidden within a watcher's heart.
In the land of the living's vibrant hue,
Souls that shine bright, dreams of true.
Fingertips weep with each word I pen,
Hoping to bring comfort to the lost again.
Memoirs written in a dreamer's state,
Where hearts unite on sympathizing weight.
Bowing my head to souls long gone,
Their truths echo in a solemn song.
Each scar earned, each tale told,
Echoes of the past in ashes old.
Part of the ash that burns so bright,
Saving souls seeking grace in the night.
Meet me where the grass is green,
In between, where truth is seen.
The raven's call beckons me near,
Whispers of her name, a heart's clear.
Exiting the state of sorrow and pain,
Damned souls cry out, plea don't leave in vain.
Their voices unheard, lost souls fade,
I offer comfort in a tune played.
Through lonely nights, in shadows deep,
Where few find peace in the land of sleep
YOU ARE READING
Through The Door, Where Dreams Implore, Leaving Questions Asking More
PoetryThese short poems dive into the intricacies of my dreams, some residing in the subconscious realm and others vividly present in my conscious thoughts. It explores the varied states of things I've dreamt of and the emotions I've experienced while sub...
