The Long Run Done Poem by Gladden Scribbles

The dark arose, as is yearned by me;
Matters awoke from slumber, as they were meant to be.
Through me, dark brooding found its tripping feet,
And against me, its conclusion brought the sudden cry of defeat.
I have become a captive to the forces of grief,
And an enemy in the sight of relief.
I have become a prisoner in the land of woes,
The cause that warms the heart of my foes.
At daylight, my shadow reflects my shame,
And at dusk, a peaceful voice calls my name:

'End it, Gladden; the pain won't leave.'
'Why not cling to the wings of the eve? '
'End it; hope is but a scheme of deceit.'
'And the eve is your chance to retreat.'

I am now like a plane that lost its wings,
An objectual subject whose maydays wouldn't solve a thing.
I am now like a capsizing ship,
Whose crew has abandoned it in the height of the dip.
I am now like a cumulonimbus sky,
Whose rumblings are set toward heavy cry.
My tomorrows had happened yesterday, in my oblivion,
And my history is at the verge of extinction.
Forces stood over me in the waning sun,
And my soul knew its long run was done.