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Michelle Hyde

The blackest gift

It is a night of sorrow, a song of death,
wolves vent their loneliness.
The thirsting one rises.
Night shrouds her pale form,
an impatient wrath.

Her raven hair cascades over
translucent ivory shoulders, and her
full crimson lips part slightly, to taste the
life streaming from the
pale flesh beneath her.

Now a night of ecstasy,
I rise.

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There Is a Time To.....

There is.......

A time to write,
A time to listen,
A time to learn,
A time to play,

A time to read,
A time to see,
A time to lead,
A time to sleep,

A time to be happy,
A time to be mad,
A time to be silly,
A time to be sad.

A time to wake,
A time to stay,
A time to talk,

[...] Read more

poem by Michelle HydeReport problemRelated quotes
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