Lamentations: Collection of Poetry Volume 3

Sorrow, like that subtle dagger conquering the sword, owes its strength to stealth. It is a brooding thing. A bleeding depression like the lonely light of the moon ever searching for the waking few who enjoy basking in its gloomy embrace. Truth be told we all bathe in its hollow light from time to time. When lover’s leave, when family flees, when death seethes….we all bask in the midnight gloom