deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Pandemic Stole My Magic Hour
The poison in the air gnawed
through the time inexorably
my magic hour is now truncated
the wise and esteemed could not
tell us when the rot would end
what would remain of my last hour
The sun did peep after a while
warily, seemingly chastened
sniffing for the evil in the air
But the glisten is gone, the gold
the sun throws at all it sees
during that magical hour
rooftops and cars, boats at sea
and the irises of children
that glow is now wan and cautious
Unlike the sun, I will, with
what little is left of my hour
with a last and deeply drawn gasp
make a stab at reddening
the sky, those frozen ships
and quietly passing gulls
paint the faces of the lovers
watching from the shore
before sinking into the sea.
through the time inexorably
my magic hour is now truncated
the wise and esteemed could not
tell us when the rot would end
what would remain of my last hour
The sun did peep after a while
warily, seemingly chastened
sniffing for the evil in the air
But the glisten is gone, the gold
the sun throws at all it sees
during that magical hour
rooftops and cars, boats at sea
and the irises of children
that glow is now wan and cautious
Unlike the sun, I will, with
what little is left of my hour
with a last and deeply drawn gasp
make a stab at reddening
the sky, those frozen ships
and quietly passing gulls
paint the faces of the lovers
watching from the shore
before sinking into the sea.
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