The Small Hours

(after Dorothy Parker)

No more the joys, of jubilant poems come back;
and at this end of day
I see the wide world that’s turning black
and nowhere in it there’s any grey.

Far too sad is the sheer loneliness
while the skyline glows
before darkness suddenly flourish
and painful it is to know

that another solitary day will come
with time in it moving much too slow
before I will return to an empty home
and I am like a leave that in the wind blows

with my life a falling, twisting
kind of thing.

[Reference: “The small hours” by Dorothy Parker.]

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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