A Poem by Greg Farina

Daylight waits in the west;

Twelve o’clock is the height;

I stayed up all the night,

Through the grave-robbers shift.

Nature abhors the artist’s pen;

The rivers surround the nation;

It’s like how I wished the constellations

Were not made up by men.

The thunder is a fearsome sound;

I see in the mirror not glass, but me;

Does the criminal go or stay,

Who from first hearing was loud?

The new moon starves for nullity

But is only a shade of it’s ague.

How on earth can I keep my mirage

When even the moon turns away?

© 2017 Greg Farina

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i really like this one,

simply amazing.

Posted 7 Months Ago

Greg Farina

7 Months Ago

Thanks a lot!
Wow in night a poem on night is very tremendous, resplendent

Posted 11 Months Ago

Greg Farina

11 Months Ago

Thanks glad you enjoyed it!

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2 Reviews
Added on July 21, 2017
Last Updated on July 21, 2017
Tags: Night, Light, Illusion, Human, Nature, Moon