Our Finest Hour

Farewell my never yielding
satisfied blossom dark flower.
The macabre tone from which
you speak speaks of an hour.

A moment of time to simplify
the complexities defining thus
that you are a complicated fire
which shall burn hot till dust.

You shall atone for nothing
while being a harbinger dark.
Music as a child is now past;
pain’s sinews now mark heart.

What songs do you think of
now that the light halts at feet?
I see them in the crevasses in
and around orbitals eyes speak.

This hour you part for your
destination of mystery forever.
Mark yourself you do dark as if
the black of a raven’s feather.

Fly with the night child dampen
the candle at which you strike
your pen to paper for you know
already your own final plight.

Your dreams are more beautiful
when all else is dark and dull.
The question of you you keep
it’s answer as unanswerable.

Tender is a mercy it’s weight is
soft but hard to stomach in cold.
The world takes all softness and
and speaks volumes silently told.

The music doesn’t stave hunger
your heart had for all of passion.
For as time marches forward you
see how life is suited to fashion.

Skin cracks and lungs wither.
Eyes degenerate as well as liver.
Black and pale turn a man yes,
eternal time marches as a river.

Better to meet the dark embrace;
call all cynical diatribes to side.
For you know this life’s cold face
and have kissed it a million times. 

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