Things Left Unsaid

A poem

As the black rose Blooms, Into the night’s deepest Shades Of midnight blue

With its looming Show of lights, I

Wait in vain Perchance to dance On the sunny Side of the street At dawn, or

Recollect & reflect in retrospect:

Nights are but sermons To be streamed In this requiem To a dream, with

Stars Drawn from wondrous dust On shadows of the moon As past, present And future ferment Like grapes In the crepuscule Of a midnight crawl

& Kismet Beckoned By the revenant vox Of *wordshippers to come

Through the static & the hum, out from Under the umbra Like a beacon Of life shining in the darkest Of light, communing With kindred souls In search of the other Side, speaking truth To power rather than letting The things left unsaid Fade into oblivion Or die with the setting sun.

Wordshippers is meant to be a play on “worshippers”.

2018/2021 MDSHall