THE TWELVE HOURS
When at the eleventh hour,
The final whistle travels by the air.
The workaholics stand to the podium!
The podium becomes a pinnacle
For the survivors
Once my eyes stuck on the screen
As I laid beside the rippling river to the east
Silently I gazed in the sky
For I sat on countless hours
That the clock may chime one o’clock!
Leaves wobbling through the woods
That they might fall on my forehead
As I finally opened the gifted casket
Then I recap a tone from a throne
That to gain is to sacrifice
The nightingale whispers
Through the air into my ears
Telling me of a poetry marathon
Yes! The twelve
And the twenty four hours journey!
A Journey I then chose
From the jingling of my veins!
The Half marathon!
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