In early evening the cell flares up. <br />Thin shadows slide down the gray walls. <br />He who cries out in mutiny exhausts into a dream. <br />The brown stillness sweeps over like a gentle wave. <br /> <br />And often a frosted light fills the choked room. <br />Figures beckon you to the spiritless circle <br />where the dance of the heavy coats dissolves into silence, <br />where dawn breaks into a ringing of bells.<br /><br />Ernst Toller<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/twilight-118/
