On such dreary days
we die. And there is an underlying
fever of hate and dismay
which enunciates all the undoings
of time and people
until we're left with just so little.
What is it about this
hell? Can we not salvage time
and revive it with a kiss
or am I just going to be the mime
which acts out life
in a wordless confine?
Let it all go into the darkness
of time.Forget the troubled
which hides the black mess
as the heart still wants to be cradled
like a baby fresh from birth
and not buried in the earth.
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