Poetry >THE BELL
Jarod Franklin
THE BELL
She is The Bell and I'm a dribbling dog,
Held at the mercy of the fool called Hope.
While she dreams on, in pain she stirs; morose,
I pass my sleepless nights and through the slog
Of labored breathing, I drink in the light
That shimmers from the cool, rippling mirror.
The waning moon deceives, it fills the skies
With borrowed light, false promises unclear.
O' curse this night! Blot out my trifle faith.
Yet still The Bell rings faint within my core,
And I answer as countless times before,
I'll run to dig my coldly resigned grave.
The fool called hope won't let me rest until
I lie within and forever remain still.
"Night Creatures"
The day has gi'en way to the night
Night creatures have come out to prey
The heavens so softly do stir
With beasts that plunge from high to low
Surmounting infernal tunnels
They see all things from high above
Beware to escape from all plight
The carnal beasts hunt from the sky