Twelve
The sun rose at midnightRed against the sky
Those that lay below the earth
Let out a mournful cry
Reaching burnt crippled hands to the sun
Their visitor of every night
They called for their father to bring them peace
And shed away its light
The moon came out at noon
Black against the sky
The demons dare not cry to her
For they waited as time passed by
No shadows lurked on broken branches
Not a sound could be heard this time
Not even the swoosh! of the ever blowing wind
That always recites its rhymes.
The moon advanced on the sun and
The sun collided with the moon
Not a minute in between twelve
Nor a second before noon
The sky turned a brilliant white
as the moon and sun connected and dwelled
The silent cries of those underneath the earth
Were heard between no time and twelve.
Poetry by Mournful Night
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Written on 2010-10-22 at 09:35
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