Thirteenth

This is quite...experimental. I am unsure as to whether or not it is any good. You be the judge!

Come, dear, and speak with me as hour moves from four to three

For the essence of time is drawing thin
With you I wish to spend this day when sky is dark and coloured grey
And we have exhausted things to begin
Formed in thought that which we wrought
Thought those are only memories, if they serve right
Shufflings within the moil to cast aside a tightened coil
Bringing tiny smiles in the solitude of night
Was it we who cast the die to taste what it meant to fly
Dusting hands of So much ash
it was the midnight lure, convincing us we knew the cure
Reduced by frail hands to nought but trash
Driving us to swiftest flight having cast away our might
When we knew it as but us and the other
It was then our end was met to sour us all with bitter regret
For those most souls we have left to smother