Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
A tranquil silence presides as night arrives and the moon begins to shine Wolves stand upon rocks in their thick grey locks and howl at twelve o’ clock An immutable drip from the precipitation slips and splashes upon a surface as does a tear that gracefully falls from the face with a purpose. Leaves occasionally rustle amongst themselves and the grass giggles The margins of my brain begin to echo eerily to the rhythm of nothing, like an acappella that is performed by a tone deaf woodpecker with no beak. Stargazer’s eyes become mystified as they stare at the sleeping sky watching the sea of stars twinkle to the beat of dead space. Crickets crick a hook like they are stuck on one being used as fishing bait A streaming river in the distance whistles a soothing, harmonious lull, and the biting wind whispers mellifluously just like a flute As closed eyes listen to an orchestra perform like that of a church, and midnight is when the service begins.
0
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
The Twelve o' Clock Rock
A tranquil silence presides as night arrives and the moon begins to shine Wolves stand upon rocks in their thick grey locks and howl at twelve o’ clock An immutable drip from the precipitation slips and splashes upon a surface as does a tear that gracefully falls from the face with a purpose. Leaves occasionally rustle amongst themselves and the grass giggles The margins of my brain begin to echo eerily to the rhythm of nothing, like an acappella that is performed by a tone deaf woodpecker with no beak. Stargazer’s eyes become mystified as they stare at the sleeping sky watching the sea of stars twinkle to the beat of dead space. Crickets crick a hook like they are stuck on one being used as fishing bait A streaming river in the distance whistles a soothing, harmonious lull, and the biting wind whispers mellifluously just like a flute As closed eyes listen to an orchestra perform like that of a church, and midnight is when the service begins.
Sounds of an orchestra at night.
benny-the-jet
Written by
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem