Poetry Corner: When the Day is Done

When the day is done and the light go dim

The noise and clatter turned to silent whispers

And the breath of wind floats the stream of nevermore

When the quiet patter follows the passing storm

Or moon frowns on the empty road in the dark to see

And wing fold only for the angels sleep

When the teeming crush becomes hidden in the night

There becomes the space of shadows and dust

Just sitting awkwardly in my shallow pool of time

No fear or flight to bid the reflection dimly farewell

Its not the rain or the storm, mundanely the clock ticks

Waiting then with no room at respite inn

Walking in slow time to the march my own

Destined for nothing more than to exist

Myth and meaning posthumously vacant


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