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