The clock strikes twelve.
The day is about to die.
This date would never come again.
Another day, lost.
Martyred itself to the power of time.
Another day, wasted and dumped.
No purpose in the dark solitude.
The sun did not shine today.
The moon hid.
Darkness remained the dictator.
It did strike twelve.
But, just to reset itself to zero.
It will strike twelve once and forevermore.
Just to be lost in charcoal, forevermore.
“Pointless”, I said.
“Open your eyes”, he said.
And I woke up for another day in the point-fullness.