Darcy Charles Inwood
A vast black veil,
Dispenses upon the landscape.
I stand upon the men of mens bones,
A solitary figure.
I do feel sorrow not,
I do feel sadness ne'er,
For we have brung this upon ourselves.
Frantically pulling at the levellings,
Which upon our fragile world relies.
And as I stare out upon the blackness,
I feel the calm.
The finality of an encompassing end.
We had brung it upon ourselves,
But we had also sat in anticipation,
our curiosity destinying us,
And view the destruction of ourselves.
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