Beneath a canopy of questioning night,
Where shadows and desire weave a quiet thread,
Dead gods gaze upon this clandestine flight,
Lost souls entangled in the tales ahead.
Through sheets of darkness, touch becomes our light,
A language spoken with words left unsaid,
Each sigh unveils a cosmos vast and wide,
Where in the silent rush, veiled truths reside.
Written in response to Grace’s prompt over at dVerse Poets Pub: Write an Ottavo Rima poem written in 8-line octaves. Each line is of a 10 or 11 syllable count in the following rhyme: one octave poem. abababcc.
The Truth About Tigers 
Leave a reply to Grace Cancel reply