surreal poetry
Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.
My Last Night
The moon leaned low on trembling skies, A silver hush in lullaby, The stars were scattered, dimmed and shy, As if they knew the end was nigh. My breath was slow, a whispered thread, Each moment spun from dreams I’d shed. The silence curled around my bed, A gentle weight, a word unsaid. I saw the faces I had known, Their voices drifted, soft in tone. Regret and joy, now overgrown— A garden wild, all seeds I'd sown. No fear remained, no need to fight, Just peace within the waning light. The world outside slipped out of sight. So passed, at last, my final night.
By Israr khanabout a year ago in Poets
