At Doomsday-Dreaming
o, the young night’s roughening
palms solid upon
the drowsy faces of niger-lads –
the slow current of the stream
of sleep drifting
the niger’s world –
& we went a-stupor like old troy
besieged by fury greece –
then lovely maidens
frightened us with looks
of beautyful truthings
of the false brevity
as old priests flew
at noon doomsday-dreaming
beyond the niger-maid’s
hidden chambers …
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
