Hallowed Dawn
An empty poets soul has dimmed.
With after glow his poem is trimmed.
A feathered brain of craven caw.
With only raven black he saw.
An epic presence never told.
A will that has been bought and sold.
Shaded glory towards the night.
An empty heart against the blight.
Horizons pasted on the page.
Only leaving stains of age.
Seven days a week unspoken.
Counted for the meek and broken.
Forever tomes in endless ink.
Disappearing in a blink.
Unbeknownst to shrouded havens.
Left only to the blackened ravens.
Copyright © Robert Johnson | Year Posted 2015
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