Thirteenth Hour Lament

There comes a hour, the exiled hour,
When people question the choices they’ve made,
For twelve hours we execute our plans,
With one hour left to reflect and repent,
We trick ourselves into thinking it won’t come,
But that hour of trepidation always finds us,

Thirteen is the number of grim governance,
Holding precedence over the shape of our lives,
Thirteen is the hour of terribly triumphant truth,
When the barricades we create in our minds fall,
Thirteen is the reckoning hour, the waning hour,
It arrives with neither warning nor word,

It descends upon us with slick speed and surprise,
To ensnare us in a web of  guilt and shame,
We are forced to reflect upon what we’ve done,
Pressed to bear witness to the people we impacted,
The thirteenth hour spares neither rich nor poor,
For all men shall gaze upon it in due time,

Thirteen is the solemnly silent agent of agony,
When that hour begins, our falsehoods will crumble,
Our shortcomings exposed to all who look,
And yet our souls are tempered and strengthened,
We are made better than we were before,
Thirteen becomes the mother of invention.

BY: Hegemony

 

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