This night advances past the evening.
The dead moonlight shines in, gleaming.
The tick of the clock is the present sound.
The tea kettle boils on stove, steaming.
A burst of wind punches through the windows.
The candle light's flame no longer shows.
Gently, a sound trees sway through the night.
The tea kettle screeches like a train's whistle.
As shadows crawl across the wall.
midnight moonlight minimally falls.
Light travels down the hallway.
But it dims down and settles as dull.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
This night advances past the evening.
The dead moonlight shines in, gleaming.
The tick of the clock is the present sound.
The tea kettle boils on stove, steaming.
A burst of wind punches through the windows.
The candle light's flame no longer shows.
Gently, a sound trees sway through the night.
The tea kettle screeches like a train's whistle.
As shadows crawl across the wall.
midnight moonlight minimally falls.
Light travels down the hallway.
But it dims down and settles as dull.
Request permission to use this poem