Words and Verse
Falling Asleep at Day's Death
The trees like torture racks throw spikes up, stark
Against the dungeon-cold grim twilight's gray.
Each black branch casts a leering spear of dark,
Like spokes in grumbling wheels that groan away.
The harsh wind whips and thrashes me with blown
Impending gusts. The grass' good green dies
Before me as night chokes it to dead brown
With suffocating black of cold, fowl skies.
  The last light writhes and chokes and gasps for life
And from afar the pained scream of a hound
Squeals through the murky air. A silent knife
Of darkness stills and kills them both. No sound
No feeling, just the hard benumbing air
That lashes...thrashes till I pass out here.
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Falling Asleep at Day`s Death
Falling Asleep at Day`s Death