Days and nights stand at my doorway
The irreversable instance, time can troll its way
Forward is how this reality makes its days
The only way to forget that is hiding in the night
Shallow water is pale in the moonlight
The barking dogs are far away in the distance
Hallowing hills make their signature in the sky
What is it that makes the night so cry?
Attributed to such is hate and pain
Night often takes on such a name
But how wonderfull is such an awsome time
Where the mist makes its home, across that hill.
Hmmmm. In away I got the feel that poem was flowing everywhere. Then it wasnt. The last verse is what messed me up. I feel you could have ended better. But this is good. Great job.
Hmm... yes, I couldn't think of better endings for some, but I often make poems where you have to seperate the stanzas and take it one piece at a time. I often use confusing corralation to tie in the stanzas or even sentences, well, just because I like people to think. But, this isn't one of my best... but thanks.