This inglorious dawn: A poem 

This grave has no room 

but for one 

The twilight sky has no womb 

for the sun 

It is a sordid whisper, an unwanted whisker 

No space for a tusker 

No heavy welcome shuffle of herds 

No singing of roosting birds 

I will put the ghosts on the hanging 

My aspirations are all languishing 

Your SOS pamphlets pegged to my trees 

have been swept off by an angry breeze 

It is absolutely true 

I had nine lives for you 

But at this inglorious dawn 

I feel like I have none 

Published by montecyril

Hi, I am Monte Cyril Rodrigues and live in Melbourne, Australia. I am a retired journalist. I have been diagnosed with schizophrenia. I've had voices and visions all my life. I think it is a spiritual experience, my doctors think otherwise. I am a deeply spiritual person and keep having experiences with otherworldly realms.

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