"duskveil" poems
Dead of night
Tempest fierce
Eyes glassy with haze
From the arctic pierce
Days have gone
On this road traversed
Time’s forward march
The unsung verse
A journey just
A mission true
A failed attempt
To reach love anew
Evermore doth he lay
On stone road cold
Evermore doth he dream
Of the hands he’ll hold
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 3:22 AM UTC