Alone, the monsters come
Disillusionment frequents
Coming to call, silently so
In the wee hours 'fore morn
Life their leader, death their tail
A tale told by a fool renowned
Signifying nothing forever
Tomorrow is tenitive thus
Melancholia, a matron's muse
That embraces in chilled caress
And obcscures gentle night
Interrupted spans scathing
Culmination enormous
An entity gluttonous too
That thrives on foul feats
And recalls it flatulantly so
Persecution purposeful
Comes by envy and distain
No query as to guilt's say
Nor consideration finally