Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Wicked Dusk

The clock in the tower is ticking.
The hands on its face turn the screw.
Inexorable time's on the prowl again
And it's coming to feast upon you.
The last of the sunlight is fleeing
And darkness is brooding nearby.
You're doomed without doubt
So don't bother to shout,
No, don't bother to whimper nor cry.
The gloaming's run short of all patience
And pleads with its master to reap
"Hand over their souls
For to make them all ghouls,
For to drag them all down to the deep."
The dusk is a destitute maiden
Shriveled from hatred of light.
Hold on to the flame if you care to live on
If you dare 'gainst the darkness give fight.


Katherine said...

Very dark! But very good!

W.B. Picklesworth said...

Hey thanks! I was feeling a bit cranky about certain societal trajectories.

Katherine said... you had your 'cranky pants' on when writing this! Still very good!