A Passage Tomb

It was a poet, an artist, a lover of the light. 
Some observant philosopher. 
Sitting, breathing, watching, feeling. 
Quietly observing, day after day.
Absorbing the subtle nuances, 
of color, brightness and contrast. 
Pondering the most minute changes 
in aspect and angle.

It was a poet, an artist, a lover of the light. 
Seeking to express 
the melancholy movement 
of the sun sinking down below the horizon. 
Attempting to pinpoint 
that joyous moment 
when all hope is restored, 
and the golden globe returns.   

It was a poet, an artist, a lover of the light,
crying out to the world: 
Do not fear the darkness! 
It has happened before. 
I have been watching! 
More than once. It got dark. 
So very cold and so dark. 
Our bones were chilled and our outlook was bleak. 
But slowly, 
bit by bit, 
the great dome shifted, 
the brightness returned. 
It returned. 
And returned.
I know it will return again! 
I know!
Here we are in our darkest moments,
But do not dare to embrace the darkness.
We must resist!
Resist!  
For I know- I know-
it will be vanquished yet again by the light.’


It was a poet, an artist, a lover of the light. 
Saving the world from darkness. 

Again and again.

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