The Label of Disenchantment.

I marauded in front of this brooding crescendo
to this disheveled voice;
I tilt my head down
upon the spotlit parking space,
trying to feel a spark
in a despondent snowstorm;
or the glory of an exposed false prophet.
the label of disenchantment
looms over like a single rain cloud,
but the hope in it still dries me up,
as long as I can stay awake.