Tears of Darkness

A nest of sorrows built in ages past Clings tight to branches in the tree of life Atop the snowy mountain, where the last Warm breath of summer died by winter’s knife. The voice of starlight whispers in the night A fairy tale unknown to living men, Who turn to blocks of granite at the sight Of slothful Silence in his wordless den. All life is dead, the earth is cold and still And tears of darkness wet the bloody moon, Whose lonely crescent stays unseen until Its cup of paleness shatters all too soon. With this, another century is born, Though not a single soul is left to count The empty ages, lightless and forlorn, As Time drinks deep from Envy’s poisoned fount. Find Langford's poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com