I let time run down on the day,

for the Moon requires

a period of mournful solace

at the passing of the ignorant Sun.

 

Shrouded in black, making sad overtures

to the recently deceased

and wringing hands in public,

the Moon acts accordingly

in the night time sky

as it basks it relative heartache

and symbolic woe, the stars

unaware of how glad the Moon

is to see the back of the Sun.

 

The night claims the power

over tide and dominates

the thoughts of those

who find happiness in the dark,

a silver light of expectancy enough

to carry the wayward home and guide

passage across storm tossed seas,

not stretching out time

in the glory of a nuclear accident

in the sky;

darkness lies here, in the sea,

on the land and the Moon,

imperfect and scared,

revels in the importance

of the Sun’s demise.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016