End Game

End Game Daylight, collected by ancient violins Breaks a cadaverous rhythm From dreams of a crashing heart And all encumbered the features of its crag Rages pitiful It is a sigh, which leaves the unsleeping cushion To bury knuckles in tired eyes Daylight With the auspices of its vendetta hanging cryptic In riddled made promises By the sun catches Nothing The mirror in its jaundice of coffee, continues And stares melancholy from its own reflection Hangs bloodless Daylight In its search for continuum And its succession to hope Clings remorseless To love In a steadfast silence Holds its will to its own faith in strength And so anchored on peace, the day begins in patience And cast as grain to the eternal dusts The ancient chord of violins With sorrows bow draws upon the strings Of my heart Daylight And with its first thought; turned on love