The dreary gray day is over, the great waves
of the night have sank the hours
remaining in November's last darkness.
We, in our pitiful Atlantis,
in our lightless depths,
live among toppled ruins
of past dreams turned into nightmares.
The feeble morning shall raise us
to meet cold December's iron skies,
the landscape which in snows
reflects our numbed minds' own frosts.
30.11.2020
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