where ghosts and fog on heights
which overlook seas that crash
and stars and moon that slash
through clouds like – lord in heaven – Light!
dawn is coming, but the darkest hour is too, tonight,
the hour that makes my fear seem bright,
which sprinkles dead man’s ash…
is it done?
shivering, watching, waiting for a blight
to come and slip me away, and tell no one of my plight,
and thunder, lightning flash,
and slice away the quietness, a gash
of heavenly unholiness, and I will never give up this fight.
is it done?
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