At the Knife Edge of That Deep, Dark Abyss
At The Knife Edge Of That Deep, Dark Abyss
I that was born on a dark, stormy night
So gifted at young age, deeper insight,
Lead to safety of ever brighter Light
Freed from darkest of dark, began to write.
A child begging Nature to my pleas hear
Oft with whimpering words and falling tears,
Imaginative child, whispers one hears
Tempting shadows to hit me with more fears.
A teen, mourning a death that my soul broke
Farther into books my heart sat to soak,
Awaiting each, as black the ill wind blows
Felt such abhorrent fears, as such oft goes.
By birth, sponge set to seek out Master Poe.
Living, pen and paper, writing to grow.
Robert J. Lindley, 1-26-2020
Sonnet, ( Echoes Heard As Old Rooster Rose To Crow )
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