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Barathrum At Night
When pyknic tendrils of sweat rack faces
And inebriated lips crack into sobriety,
Obscure night prophecies; life-forecast dreams
Insinuate images of imploding hopefulness;
The lonely pebble encased in a cacoon of vanity
Encompassed by an opaque mist of damning disparity
One sole solution:
Staring heavy into the black firmament,
Obstructing visions, hence concluding futurity.
We are acquiring the might to prevail then
Through the hecatomb of bloody day.
poem
by
Mark Challenger
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