Poetry

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Clock Will Chime　



A whisper in the wind,

a softly spoken sound,

voices of next of kin,

spirits essence surround.



Dark of the darkest night,

feelings you’re not alone,

shadow dance in the light,

hearing the fading tones.



Nestled all snug in bed,

sights, sounds confuse,

wondering if your dead,

nothing seems to amuse.



Tricks played on the mind,

midnight’s shadowing hour,

feelings alter existing time,

and real fright can devour.



Ticking clock will chime,

as it sounds ever so loud,

curled up in bed we weep,

figures in ghostly clouds.

　

Samuel E. Stone, Copyright© 2009, All Audiences

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