Empty Night

Each day, no matter how bright, passes inevitably into the darkness of night.

Written by

Randall J. Greene

Published on

Go BackPoetry, Stories

The sun, it sets on another day.
Dark makes night its immortal prey;
Dusk’s weary ghost digs its own grave
To make the morning’s light its slave.

Shallow lies the serpent’s tomb,
Vain to exit its mother’s womb,
Yet only after futile day is done
Shall serpent and its earth be one.

Speak, Rain, wash clean the stone,
Chill the banished soul to bone.
When time dies, no more to roam
Then good makes dark it’s final home.

Scream, Soul, scream, though none to hear
Through agony, torment, hate and fear.
Dance, Soul, dance, though none to see
How strong and deep thy love can be.