Poemhead

Torment and Toil

In the afterglow of a long lost dawn I find the hole that I call home.
Twisted in twilight and stretched beyond one last caw from the crow’s weary song.
Upon the road that I called hell I marched alone with pick and pail.
My work complete for the evening sending I suffer the torment of my toil unending.
A simple flash and a crash resounding the storm rolls in and upon my hovel pounding.
Unrelenting as sleep overtakes me I drift away as the darkness bade me.
I’m trapped in dreams of wretched flight from a fear unseen that lasts the night.
Waking before the sun can rise I wash my face and take my strides along a road that I call hell from a hole, a hovel, a home that I know all too well.

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