Dark Hour

                                     Dark Hour

It's late.

No sound save the howling wind and the

Monotonous drone of the box.

No comforting word

Nor listening ear to be found.

All is calm, all is bright,

Save for the recesses of the soul.

The pink liquid offers no more comfort

Than an hour ago.

Mind numbing boredom permeats

The brain.

As you commemorate yet another

Dark hour.