For good and clear reason we are 
imprisoned under black skies. They must pass overhead 
before those upholding the bright sun 
encounter our hearts. No incantations nor actions 
can hasten the day.

The temptation is to imagine 
armageddon upon us; the end is nigh.
The temptation is to create 
the hell one fears, to lose one's mind.

With our colours greyed under leaden skies 
feeling this deadened state as eternal
we aim to let poetry write itself
having come to distrust our genius.