Friday, October 15, 2010

Sometimes at dead of night

Sometimes at dead of night she calls
Echoing down corridors of dreams,
Lost at crossroad in another land
Tumbling in confusion.

Her plaintive cry sinks into my soul
Heartbreaking sorrow and despair,
Swirling all the colours of her mind
Into forgotten rainbows.

Her captive spirit aches to be set free
Its melancholy tears are pools of doubt,
Enchanted by a spell cast long ago
On some far horizon


Jeanne Sampson said...

Haunting and thought provoking. Nice work...

bryce said...

Lovely piece of work Alan....the kind of work you can easily get lost in...and before you know it, your coffee has gone cold.

Joann Buchanan said...

shivers. Jeanne is right, haunting...smiles...the picture is how my brain feels most of the

Alan Gilbert said...

lol Thank you very much, sorry abort the coffee :D