Day 329, the hand of God

Imagine the sunset swarming
Swirling, pulsing in the dusk

The umber blue wind
Plucking up it's favorite fruits

Our day his harvest.

We bow, obedient, contrite
Ashamed of what we feed it


The pulp blurring, bleeding
staining the horizon night
Until a dim moon illuminates
The hunger of our souls

Rest becomes our refuge
From this godless midnight
Drunkeness a way to blur
The black to gray

We gnash and gnaw on what's left
Of our pitiful offerings
Until the hand of God
Places one more sun

Until dawn disturbs us
Shakes us from our sleep
Her tender breath
A golden glow that hovers

Glittering the darkest space
With her extraordinary light
Shaking the world to awaken, warn
Before day blazes in and burns our offerings

Day 300, this is the sorrow of no

Sorry for the strong language but the meaning of the word bastard simply means fatherless or fraudulent. The feeling that there is no hope or no more than what there appears to be is exactly that, so i kept the word...


The sorrow of no
Is it's finality
As in no more
Choices
Chances
Time
Hope
Children
Joy
No.and no, no, no!

Nothing left
But a bastard truth
That no one wants to claim

So we avert our eyes
Gnaw hungrily on denial
Anything but gaze at no.

Because it hurts in this
Wild Abandoned way
The way frostbitten
Skin aches even though it's numb.

No, there will never be.
No, there will always be
Until there is no more.