Chasing the Morning Light
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I call this as a poetry of illumination. It narrates the persona's emotions toward the inevitable coming of dusk that separates him from his light--the love of his dark life.
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They say the world used to turn. They say that night would follow day in an endless dance. They say that dawn rose, dusk fell, and we worshiped both sun and stars. That was a long time ago. The dance has died. The world has fallen still. We float through the heavens, one half always in light, one half always in shadow. Like the moth of our forests, one wing white and the other black, we are torn. My people are the fortunate. We live in daylight, blessed in the warmth of the sun. Yet across the line, the others lurk in eternal night, afraid... and alone in the dark. I was born in the light. I was sent into darkness. This is my story.
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