Chamber rock on April morning,
with the bass and cello snoring,
over graves, and dressed for Easter
In their reddish, pinkish glitter.
Be it lulling for the mourning,
chamber rock on April morning,
Indie voices, undiscovered
private showings, undercover
For the after hour fooling
and the raging fire cooling,
chamber rock on April morning
starts or ends without a warning.
Ending in the grey of vision,
and a parting song’s division
with its rhyme or reason, pouring
chamber rock on April morning.
YOU ARE READING
Dark Poetry
PoetryThis is a colection of thoughts or nightmares in form of poetry, some of them written by myself, some only gathered by me. The darkness is in all of us just waiting to get out, but not in the light. No, darkness reaches out for darkness, so you thin...
