The Evening Song: A Prelude To Night
Charles D. O'Connor III
The Suns orange glow begins to fade,
Hidden behind a mass of black clouds,
No more will it shine on a lively scene,
But now simply a weak and passing dream,
The sweet fragrent air grows rancid and stale,
Capturing evil from demons' sickly gleams,
And passing it to us in a torrent of ghastly screams.
People hear them and frantically dash away,
Hoping to escape thoughts from their past-
Thoughts moving quickly around death stars,
Praying to awaken pain and consume the pious sanity of the brain.
When the night has been announced,
Sharp organs pulse madly some distance away,
And an old man now stands fearlessly outside,
An open grave by his side.
He slowly drags his body down and hurriedly buries himself in earths cold hard clay,
Never again to experience the passing of another day.