A Game of Shadows

Trembling hands and a shaky will,
In a storm that brews and shreds apart.
Of a world that burns and hopes that fall,
In darkness I hear a beating heart.

Suffering suffers with every gulp,
A trough of poison runs through cracks.
Of a world that fades with the darkness dark,
With every step the hope it slacks.

The dark itself is a game of shadows,
Every sight is a step afar.
From hopes of love and the promise of it,
Is but a real yet distant star.

Trembling hands and a shaky will,
In a storm that means to tear apart.
In a world that burns where hopes do fall,
There lies a hope in the distant dark.

Reviews

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

A fine piece that gathers pace and never really lets the reader go, divine and astute as great poetry should be, well done, good read.