Sunday Death
Sunday Death
It's Sunday evening darkness
the natural light slipped away
with customary cruelty
your life happiness your day
yet you've had yours already
it began when Friday bore
with promises of Saturday
Friday night comes before
Now you wake Sunday morning
bitter sweet encased warm
conscious of times hammer
incessant on your hollow form
Monday will not be spoken
imagined or part way planned
because Sunday is deaths harbinger
in the modern mind of man
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