who are these things?
they came to me on wild winds
amid bird-songs and world-sounds
after the moon, before the sun
in faint rosy-colored fingers
which signal to half the world
that dawn is about to enter the room
hurriedly without turn
totally unaware of
my tendency to spurn
these type thoughts
fear has gripped me
tightly into immobility
ending is ever so near
what must one do?
the time is passed
help is nowhere seen
so this is finale, end
writing now is paramount
that is all which will count
until curtain descends
until life ends
in the sky are signs
clouds gathering
earth shaking
nothing in align
i am hopeless
helpless
carlo
image: deviant art
