Friday, February 14, 2014

False Revolution

It’s dawn. It must be so:
There’s the rose tint beyond
The faintest hint of dew.
It’s another day! It has to be.
There’s the moon hiding for cover
As the light sweeps in.
Rejoice! Awake! Arise!
Dare I hope?

But alas! This cannot be!
The rose, this dew – it’s sticky, icky, bloody.
Is the moon showing us the way?
Perhaps we should yet stay in
Till the alarm rings of its own:
There’s a reason, after all,
For the daily ritual.
I mourn.

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