Daily missive breaks into the weekend Saturday the 8th of November.~by Peter Forster

 

 

Daily missive breaks into the weekend Saturday the 8th of November.

When the sun dies
Who will mourn its passing?
Will it have a soul?
And if it does
What will light its way?
As it stumbles in a darkness
Never known.

Will it founder,
For all eternity,
In ceaseless absence?
Or will it adapt
To a world without shadow.
All would be obscured,
The stars would
Blink sad tears.
And the moon
Would always
Present its dark side.

The road we travel
Would be shadowed.
With barely a candle
To light our way.
And as a breath of night
Extinguishes
The last beacon,
An implosion,
A final eclipse, that draws
The dying embers
Into the deepest hollow,
In the blackest part
Of a heavy,
Crushed, velvet heart,
From which, not even
The last rays
Of a fading star can escape,
The children
Of the lost sun
Would be cast,
To live on,
Beneath a shroud,
A darkling cape,
In perpetuity.