LAST CYCLE © 2008
This awakening in the early hours,
A thousand souls wander, unwanted flowers.
They cry out their pains, their laments,
Envying the gazes, silent torments.
They seek refuge, a hidden abode,
Where they might shield themselves from the cold's overload.
But in the shadows of the night, they find only emptiness,
Echoing their sorrows in a dark murkiness.