The tired sun barely whispers "Goodbye" to the distant hills,
Than they turn from green to orange and then to silhouettes.
That insidious nagging thought my mind cajoles and flirts,
And like the water from my shaking hand all the days hope spills.
A vicious cycle – the knowledge of the inevitable my Being fills,
The inability to control – My Mind! – "Dear God, this hurts".
"Why, why does hope and despair intermingle and come in spurts?"
Whatever hope the days has built, my doubts and the silent Night kills.

The moon in all her unashamed nakedness my thoughts do seduce,
Hypnotized and enthralled, I forget my fears and take in her beauty,
My mind gives in to her body and I bask in her abandoned lust.
The rain clouds the sight, light and my wonders despoil and reduce,
I angrily ask: "Dear God, why must night my hopes dash – futility?"
He silently answers: "Another night in him I must again trust"