Quiet Night Loud Thoughts

Quiet Night Loud Thoughts short poem

Uploaded by Kamohelo S Tladi


As the rain drops beat against the transparent glass of my encompassment
yet evoking such peace,
how I also yearn for a piece.
My mind rumbles in all this mumble,
a familiar mania,
an ambiguous source of my insomnia.
How do I begin to unravel
in all this saturated soil,
for all I seek is a reason to marvel
at this partially welcomed toil.
I guess I will forever pursue
the nakedness behind all that dew,
for all I want to see
is the reason I am me

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of
avatar
wpDiscuz

Next Night

Next Night short poem

I hate the self-immolation of orange sex. Weather was leaving blue strings on the skin. Redemption was incomplete by sharing the legs Lips will not knead the ears. Like wakng in darkness for a passage to grief. Black moon will

A Somber Night

A Somber Night short poem

A volcanic kiss was becoming ungreen. The shark was coming. All night it was raining. The sap was rising and love-farm was deluged. A blue moon walks on the dry eyes. Why the tears had gone to exile? A mole

Stormy Night

Stormy Night short poem

The dark clouds are rolling in quickly, wild wind blows fast and fiercely Many leaves and twigs start twirling around and circling Feeling like Edgar Allen Poe, In the distance I can hear some echo’s Of many dog’s barking in

Quiet Time

Quiet Time short poem

I write beautiful poems in my quiet times, Sign that the universe delivers in silence – Great inspirations about love and crimes – With a poetic virtuoso ,I build my intelligence- Which I use to extract imaginative awareness- For the

Splitting The Night

Splitting The Night short poem

Pillage started, when there were anti-answers. The trapped light- wanted to be released, from brutalism. When you were nearly drowned, in the multitude of questions, joining the palms, you collect the moments of solitude. You drop a key in the