Almost always awake before Dawn
breaks the pane of Darkness
sending shards and splinters of light
gleaming and streaming as the window shatters,
much to the Earth's delight
Since i can remember and that which i can not
has always found me rising at the Witching Hour
when angels fly heavenward and demons cower,
waiting to see which higher power wins the day
It has always been this way,
the battle for the hearts of Man
Light versus Darkness, to see who will command
Am i a cosmic Bosworth,
documenting what i don't comprehend
a winged messenger of the gods
with little more than flowers to send?
For i cannot sit here and pretend to understand at all,
Do i wait indefinitely, eternally waiting on the clarion call
a voice, crying in the wilderness,
another wailing on the wall?...
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