Empty Night

February 5, 2015
Each day, no matter how bright, passes inevitably into the darkness of night.

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.


Randall J. Greene

My heart beats for my faith, my God, my wife, and our puppy. I am a web strategist by day, but I identify as a writer. Occasionally I also lead classes and conversation groups at my church. I completed a Master of Arts in Theological Studies from Central Baptist Theological Seminary.

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