Darkest hours grope the day,
A delightful time of null decay,
Locked within a steel prison,
Lined by ribs and dust arisen.
Vacant eyes spy a solemn pin,
A hair away might it brush the skin,
Pristine threads now charred and ashen,
Fallen prey is left to ration.
Much a like to empty minds,
For thought is barren in these times,
Where once there was a vibrant hue,
Now remains a shade askew.
