Maybe There Be Stories, Left To Tell

To be in visaged in my prime
Bathed in sound, before the chime
Even in my humble truth
There was fear within my youth

Feeble sound within song
How I wish you'd play along
While I rested on my knees
Did anyone really, hear my pleas

Radiate light from distant stars
To gather thoughts of whom we are
Whom and who so ever
Taint my breath with glided feather

Twain and twice removed
How I listen to my grove
To dance among a crowd of doves
Among the thoughts of distant loves

May there be light, where darkness dwells
And maybe there be stories, left to tell

| Poetry 1 | Poetry 2 | Poetry 3 | Poetry 4 |

| Poetry 5 | Poetry 6 | Poetry 7 | Poetry 8 |

| Poetry 9 | Poetry 10 | Poetry 11 | Poetry 12 |

| Poetry 13 | Poetry 14 |

Copyright © Darryn John Murphy