The kind of night that knows no end,
The bitter northern winds howl,
like the devilish hounds that have pushed us to the brink.
unsure of what exists and what is to begin,
where we’ll be be led and what will be got rid,
What will leave and what will be eradicated in this din.
Here’s hoping that no harm comes forth in our midst,
though harsh and selfishly I cry,
At the plight that touches not this,
Allowed to warble self-pityingly about some external, self-absorbent shit.
All the while wishing against wish that I could but hold my love, to kno that I am mine and he his, but that some holy force blesses that union before the world crumbles into mist.