The Last Hour
Cursed be the evening,
in which anger and despair
lead to mourning perpetually
under the night's chilly air
To rise when the eyes see,
the sun's gaze upon the earth
is unwishful to one who seeks rest
thousands of feet below the dirt
Forsaken he is, if that's what he felt,
Hung to the trusses by a belt
let the moment of inexistence
strike once the clock hits twelve.
Copyright © John Jeremy Semena | Year Posted 2018
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