monody

the latte is getting low

as the sun, it does arise

the clamor of the mourning as it goes & it goes & it goes

those who peer down

at the scribbles of my rhymes

as they wait in line, as they look down, look down, look down

into the depths of a life

to confound with the sun and its rise

to bleed crimson rays from the cutting of a knife, a knife, a knife

rays that drip with rage

that smear upon a page

imparting wearisome age blessed with days, with days, with days

that carve the path through time

steady, trudging through the grime

in the hope you impart some meaning in life, in life, in life