The Pitcher in the Pit

Ah, the clouds, those lucky sheep!
Whence came their silver lining?
Is it the rain these bastards weep,
Or is it the sun that keeps them shining?

Wonder, wonder, and take those dawns
That sit beyond the darkest hours,
Whence the sentry, night or morn
To watch from over the lightless towers?

Questions! Air! Their takers none—
Who questions God and nature’s will?
Nay, none, my prayers are done,
But I have one wish that lingers still.

As I harbour hell at my journey’s orgasm
And marvel unaided on this fall so sheer,
I wish my screams don’t meet a chasm,
But drown instead in this pitcher of beer.