The Abattoir Poem by Matthew Holloway

This is where dreams come to die
In pale sunlight of mourning
Where thought concedes all
A surrender of the night begins
The body limp draws out a breath
Bones ache, the soul weeps out a cry
The peace of the night is dead
The new day an executioner, butcher
Reality must now be faced
The routines of work and conversation
Meals and more empty talk
Gossip and ideas some rather good
Otherwise its going through motions
Only love breaks the monotony
That kind of special companionship
That binds you to dreams
Makes you remember them
Otherwise their lost, gone, forgotten
Slaughtered in the mourning's light