The Hour is Late
Light breaks its back onto the eternal night.
This night with its strange currents,
Its little tricks and shaded faces.
I let myself to the oh wondering dark
for I know that light is coming.
My cawing heart has found his place,
Amongst the endless space,
Populated with those that are
And will forever be forgotten.
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Comments about this poem (The Hour is Late by Bryn Morgan )
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