Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2011
A bleak night, a hallowed night
Bathed in haunting silver light
By the hanging moon over head in fullness
Which shows the way for my feet through the wood
That is empty in this season of deadness
With the space between these barren trees
Filled with sound of blowing winds
That whip the leaves round me blinding
Lifting by heart from listless binding
As I walk this cold stark winter path
To vainly search in hope of finding
A permanent place to live and laugh
James Banks Worsham
Written by
James Banks Worsham  34/M/NYC
(34/M/NYC)   
667
   lala nana
Please log in to view and add comments on poems