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A fronte praecipitium a tergo lupi. (In front of you, a precipice. Behind you, wolves.)

Sunday, April 3, 2016

Twin Orbs


The orb of fire wastes and dies,
Ancient, it spills its life across the Heavens,
Blaze spent,
It drifts,
Hovering upon the rim of the world
In faded splendor hangs
A second.

With fiery flash of last thrown lance of flame
 It blinks out,
Washing sky in crimson bloody
 Moon, pale as milk
 Rises early
Impatiently awaiting
Sun's abdication.
She smiles and comes into her own,
Taking field and throne
Silver grace,
Sailing through a Stygian firmament
The fell ship of light
Igniting a million billion scattered sparks,
The glittering harbinger moon
Lays waste the sky.

Diamond comets streak across black velvet
Burning out in silver galleon's wake.
She rules the night with velvet hand
What news?
Dim light, shell-soft and new?
Darkness seeping
Hesitant, she cedes the field
In her demise.

Yet wait!
A tiny spark ignites
And sets Earth's rim aflame
Trumpets blare
The Imperial Solar Orb, in dread majesty emerges
Once more to set the sky
Its domain
© 2016 by H. Linn Murphy

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