Morning brings confusion, dread,
A nightmare lingers in my head.
In frozen terror, cold and stark,
You lie there still, in coffin dark.
Draped in black, your face erased,
With hollow stares all round encased.
I go where shadows veil your face,
To weep and pray in quiet grace.
The church, like heaven’s dome of night,
Resounds with tolls of grief’s delight.
No dawn will break, no sun will rise,
Such sorrow fills these endless skies.
Farewell, I kiss your hands grown cold,
Brush snowflakes from your hair of old.
The sound of tears alone will break
The stillness here, for memory's sake.
No path to lead, no steps to trace
To this forsaken shadowed place,
Where silence reigns and guards remain—
A many-armed cross, vast and plain.
The sound of tears alone will break
© Copyright: Арней Воладу, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124110303367
Свидетельство о публикации №124110303367
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