of responsibility and bittersweet farewells
and his voice rings with the sounding of the bells
twelve for noon
twenty-four for midnight
but forty-four for sunset
it's the twilight of his time here now
and the sliver of sun casts its reddish golden hues upon the sand
growing ever slimmer
but there is still time
time to whisper your last farewells before the darting darkness reaches his bells and the sun falls
quietly
without a sound
(it's because of the sand)
👁 4💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.