O mourning, Lo Morning
Such bright and effervescent glare, to dare
And rouse me from my weathered lair
Time hath crept and awoke me from my slumber
Eyes shot through with blood and cranium of thunder
What expectations arise now from this mess?
Ever less.
O mourning, lo morning
Crawling, wretched, wretching
Urging, purging, ever lurching on
Emerging slowly, desperation surging in dreary dull
I lie through furry teeth and shrivelled tongue
What sensation due to reap from this excess?
Ever less.
O mourning, lo morning
Hanging over fragile inner precipices
This persistent dawning of unrest
O what vacacious spasming this night gone did I conquest?
In vain attempts to quell this aching, jaded, yawning breast
What now of this day – what now of success?
Ever less.
O mourning, lo morning
I recoil – then hazy eyed and loose of jaw
I thought and fought – really was I convinced of something more?
What have I left now to confess?
Ever less.
This day – unfurling before me not unlike a fern
As warm and fresh as the unfortunate corpse the cat doth gift
And as the cat now, low and quiet – stewing in my own indulgence
Awating something, something I cannot place, to morph and shift
Knowing that like never-ending turmoil of the gunslinger Deschain
The story is infinte – consistent with the sunset it all begins again.
O mourning, Lo morning.
