I watch the day gently bleed-out to night,
Its intangible essence descending deeper now history,
From the sun we run in darken cowered gloom,
Then gone, sanctimoniously conjuring forgotten mystery,


If only I could paint the sky green with agony,
Then regress and re-address its call to dark,
Or blue like the back of a postage stamp?
To arms we fly, to bed to death to disembark,


But it’s forgotten torment before we lie,
Ahead another morning again to wake alone,
Now spent fruit of a wasted liberal cleansing,
Walk the carpet, denounce fate; atone,


Welcome back the glow of life this day,
Beauty will bloom and bask in splendour beneath,
Disregard this treacherous luminescence,
For this right now, I lay one final wreath.