Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

After five

In the afterthought of twilight
As the ghostly foothprints
Disappear after five,
I am thrown into the
Doubt of dreams,
Tantruming and howling at
The futures I am seeing,
Yet unable to control.
All people with
Countdown numbers above their heads,
Where a halo should sit.

August 20th, 2009


Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
After five

315,422 Poems Read