morning hour shows no mercy,
foghorns speak to the deaf
through last night’s lingering haze,
morning hour calls to attention
a sleepy wicked son swathed
in the thoughts of fresh rest,
morning hour ends
calling forth the harbinger
of the day the world would end.
midday marvels at the azure
above the virescent needled rising,
in the mind of the ancient sage
grey clouds gather.
three cheers for the fallen.
three cheers for the dead.
three cheers — fade.
echoes of evolution fade
as eventide demands attention,
curtains to draw, memories to
— erase,
the last god watches
over sleepy wicked sons swathed
in thoughts of fresh beginnings,
before snuffing the flame.