Marked Upon the Hour


Our Collective sobs,

going unnoticed by a firing council, 

park ended apartment to held the 

   purposed feuds,

patron urges, 

    and patron saints, 

their ancient monarchs

    and their command to sing

 and sing once again.

Satyricon was a farce,

and it is important to be ernest,

and is not truth simply easier.

I live my life in the fear and

blocked haze of that of the veil,

I cry as I dream

and I cry in our days.

You cannot ask for patience reward outright,

you cannot quench upon the hot coal

of hate, or its sister city.

You cannot deprive nor strive

   or strike and stride,

impale in dreary mark upon

   the hour

and always, repeating,

marked upon the hour.



Published by James J Jackson

I'm a poet from California.

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