Black, dark skies. The deep is dying, waxing sigh, <br />The finite wrest their nakedness in silent horror <br />Like ghosts after the muting blow. <br />The wind whips mindlessly; is He still painting? <br />Like groaning from labyrinthine souls, <br />The fleeting rip their glory in conscious sorrow, <br />Curséd eyes; the day is dying. Dark, cold night.<br /><br />Jonzo Bandwagoner<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sunrise-the-fall/
