POEMS Storyteller

That Hour

I am doing a jig at the edge of a precipice

The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks is the melody I dance to

The moon shimmered across the ocean like lights from a disco ball

The wind hummed like a base steeldrum

Clouds cast shadows over the stones, the grass, the trees, the sand

The weeping willow leaves whistled in the breeze

Still are the birds, the animals, the people

It is that hour, that hour right before conscious death

By Mr Giant

Me name is Anderson A Charles. I am a writer story teller and Podcaster and Youtuber. Also played basketball in college ( that's because I am seven feet tall.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s