A Sonnet to the Night

A temperate switchblade alights the night,
Silver slivers of the cavorting glow,
Children's merriment of time gone shines bright,
Laughter reflected gaily from below.
Yet the dark omnipresence of lost youth,
Shall soon guide the downturnment of prior smiles,
And the steel mills call, a shrill screech, uncouth,
Will swap their joyous games with adult wiles.
A hoarse hollow cough and a barren plate,
Fate for those who now unknowingly grin,
Better knowing the ruse of switch and bait,
Than false hope of an impossible win.
Mock now dull moon, hollow orb, fading glow,
Certainty in death, is all you'll ever know.
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