Politics

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The midnight hours dwindle,
Anxiously await
As pre-dawn minutes prepare to make an entrance.
The seconds seem to soar,
Yet still, a longing lingers,
Enshrouding, judgment clouding,
Now desperate, do implore
For one more moment
An episode, a second when time stops...
When the hands of ticking clock do cease to turn.

An instant when nothing matters,
An attainable denial,
A feeling of bliss…
A place where euphoric state
Is not an enigma,
Where love is not remiss…
Where happiness is not thought a disease, a cancer,
A plague or love-fed fallacy
That leaves one bereft and full with rancor
One's chest a pilfered grave, a chasm,
One's soul worn, wrought with gnawing spasms.

The dawn’s first sign approaches
Dancing vibrant garnet, citrine, ruby.
Haunting, taunting, dauntingly
Painting the eastern hillside in sorrow,
Reeking of scabrous yesterdays,
Of painful tomorrows,
Feeling feeble bones decay to dust
As parched eyes burn, bleeding tin-heart rust.
A Hellish place, a soul encased,
Reluctant, in apathetic reality,
Held captive in fated finality,
At war.

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