In a dram we dipped our finger,hand me the bottle

Taking a step back to reflect  
the dark devours yet another part of us
 
that spec of dust
that dangles as a last line of defense in the distance
breaking away  
as taking bunker
after bunker
with just a side arm
 
we inch closer to our own death
but a death that is our own
with the potential to be proud
of our own shortcomings and triumphs  
the cold consumes as cross hares  
while hands move under beds in the witching hour.  
 
 
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inspired by Raven5
 
https://allpoetry.com/Raven5