Sarah Ann Jullion Poet Free verse

Too Late

Too late.
It's too late,
   said the small man,
   said he,
looking up from  
   the way down below.

I've been and gone,
touched her windows,
   though open wide   they be,
Deep beyond 
   their weathered panes
All light erased
woven so tightly   be that black,
her fabric of the dark.

Hollow echoes loudly
through her   hallowed walls,
   No doorway in
   Nor outway out.
though, perhaps, not always...  
   a once
   a longing time ago,
in those brighter   lighter
   days of before 
   and before.

But on this day of today,
   all rings quiet.
   all too too quiet all too calm.
For it is too late too late,
   said the small man.

Her morning sun of now
   be now 
her mourning sun.

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