"In The Waning Hours"
Where the emptiness fades
and the stink of alcohol subsides
long enough for one final
blood curdling howl
The memory of the deceased sun
is replaced by the cold fingers
of restless night
Like a vulture, it will stalk you
and wait in the shadows
ready to sink its teeth
and drink the marrow
of your lovely despair
And in the waning hours
as life escapes and the blood
paints the awful ground
nothingness will rush to embrace you
like a long lost mistress.
Copyright: 2011, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
