5 p.m.

The mordant day drifts along its course
into the deep deep of evening ,
its hours exhausted by a futility
arduously wrought with effort,endeavour,exasperation ;
leaving us to be put to sleep
the “us” who henceforth shall never awaken ,
the “us” who became as dormant
as hallway carpets waiting to be rolled up
ready to be tossed away for junk ;
onto the ephemeral detritus of the rest of
our lives ,our existence,our waking days ,
rendered redundant ,obsolete,ossified
secreted in a glass display cabinet
at the back of a Museum long closed ,
shuttered to all the World’s inquisitiveness ;
there to subsist in an absence of purpose
without respite nor recourse to those
meanings which the days once gave to them ,
once upon a time ,a long long time ago
before the advent of the indifference
that caused the mordant day to drift along
its course into the deep ,deep .

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