Weeping Stone Garden

Within void-like black of the night

I hear the hollow stones cry

their stories of the dream within dreams

of those that have slipped into Lethe’s stream

Be ware not to wake the dead,

They know the secrets in your head

The anguish, the symphony of screams

This melody that permeates into the dream within the dreams


Episode 1: Welcome to ThePOEMMHOME

In this first episode of ThePOEMHOME podcast, we listen to a brief reading of Ernesto’s poetry “Blue Spruce Trees”. Just one of many audio poems down the road in other episodes.