Tomorrow begins at dusk, when mourning disturbs deep summer, annually, yet again.
I, unlike Joshua of Nun, will not slow the advance of darkness, nor halt the terrestrial spin.
Sunset, when through, brings wormwood and grief, for the good of today will fade into night.
History foretold, of great blessing or curses, their glory or chains, their triumph or fright.
As it sets, mourning must begin — not yet the dawn, but sad lamentation, grief, mourning.
Be not surprised to hear of choices made long ago, or the One who gave repeated warning.
Apostrophe here interrupts Doomsday — with no apparent reason and without explanation.
Acrostics appear in their scriptures, beginning Psalms of praise, prayer, and meditation.
Valuable insights await those who decipher the Doomsdays recurrent through generations.