The Setting Sun

there is a nastiness in the rain,

cold and numbing,

brutally reminding its victims,

there are no longer any friends,

no more refuge

against the endless,

mindless world

existing within;

on television they are arguing about

presidential whores,

while two hundred million

are just trying to make it

through one more day,

pretending and praying,

it will all just go away,

that it will be as it once was,

fresh and alive,

something new,

nubile innocence,

lighting up the

scarlet night;

but there is only death;

here below,

where even the mightiest

lose their will,

the sun is setting

for the very last time.

.

.