Deepest Afflictions to Random Speculations

Of Silver and Gold

When young Dawn breaks past
the horizon,
stretching her warm fingers out
as she wakes,
leaving traces of orange and gold throughout the sky,
I stare off to meet her gaze.

Sitting on the roof
Of my childhood home,
Knees pulled tight to my chest,
I smile faintly as she yawns her great morning sigh,
Rustling leaves in her wind,
And flooding the world with her long awaited light.

She smiles at the world,
still drowsy with slumber,
Peaking her rays out in exuberant sunshine.
Her glowing, yellow orb aluminates the dark sky,
Highlighting daybreak,
And chases to meet her falling lover.

But that of silver and gold are bound to never touch.
In endless cycle they chase each other round and round...
At night—
He cries for her in a hollow whisper of blackening grief.
At day—
she sings for him in deafening shouts of anguish.

She catches a glimpse of him at dawn.
He sees her fade at dusk.
She cries Persephone's tears of condemnation.
He howls the Wolf's forevermore melody of longing.
An thus it rains at sundown.

Me?
I wait and watch with eyes wondering wide,
In witness to the wallowing wane of love.
Awaiting the days when they approach slightly quicker,
And kiss in a blissful moment of eclipse.
A temporary unity that sets both Sun and Moon in past for their next journey of struggle.
Together, they break the rules of science and art.

And I,
I sit on the rooftop of my childhood home,
Knees pulled tightly to my chest,
Watching the Gold diminish the Silver,
And breathe in willow-the-wisps  farewell in finality.
And thus it rains at sunup.