Roni

17

God damn the black night with all its foul temptations,

Of sweetly scented crisp cold air,

And passionate alluring creations.

The infinite stars to fill the boundless void and mock your minuscule existence,

And your spirit rebel against their rule,

To try to keep persistence.

The day comes to shed light on your skin and dry the sweat that stays there,

With divine condemnation from the sky above,

And your lips caught in a death snare.