Will it also be dark, tomorrow?: A poem 

There is a steep mountain between two hearts 

At its base, a hobgoblin spins and darts 

And, in the hostelry, who would work the loom? 

Would it be yarn for a tomb and not a womb? 

And I can invoke all the mysteries of sadness 

from an orchestra of music in the darkness 

which emphasises, in an instance, an infinite distance 

I am hoping this be a trick of optical illusions 

Can a wish miraculously flow in two rivers 

sacredly confluencing them from a well-intentioned quiver? 

But, at this moment, a bridge falls short 

One island is cold, the other is hot 

I can holler at the heavens for loyalty’s glue 

to acknowledge a rite of duty from its benevolent blue 

But, in this graveyard, the cow doesn’t moo 

It will be the beef of a cruel stew 

I wish for this day to quickly pass 

when horror has struck an innocent gullible class 

Even if it has shattered my window’s glass, 

I can pray that tomorrow will shine my brass