The Death of Day

A deep, purple haze settles over the sky,
As the moon sits just out of reach.
Retching free from a devastating grip,
Among the twisted arms of the beech. .
 

The trees bear their twisted smile,
Now that the day is done.
How many hours till morning?
The night has just begun.
 

The calm warmness of earth,
Releases a withheld breath.
And as I trek on softly,
I can hear nature recover from death.
 

For the daylight brings forth sorrow,
That is soothed by the richness of night.
And as the cycle continues
I begin to hate the light.
 

The light can be an enemy,
And only time can prove.
But now a war is raging,
And someone has to lose.
 

Despite the war that’s raging,
The grass sighs softly under my feet.
And as the moon climbs ever higher,
The wind sings its song. Soft and sweet.
 

And in the this gentle lullaby,
The world finally comes to rest.
And here humanity is sleeping.
Humanity at its best.