I Write Poetry

the brilliance of this day is fleeting
off and running to the place it stays sleeping, as the night arrives
and unpacks its bags, weeping
that those of the light now defer to the night

and as darkness comes
the last line of orange sky
hugs the horizon
blind in its eye it starts to cry
that the light is not everlasting
but must be equally shared
by the darkness that befalls
and cajoles the unsuspecting