One step begets another, and perhaps before I know
my eyes turn toward the heavens, where once Your stars were sown.
But now ethereal blackness that empyrean silence folds
chased away by tongues of fire in a battered peasant’s hold.
And the lights, like mortal monarchs—they chase upon the hills
and bathe these paths of men in light, cast glory on the mills.
The streams rush by with eager breath, and this brings them ablaze—
yet little know these mere, fond lights to count away their days.
I see these walls above me, laughing loud and not a tear;
and perhaps a quiet thought that, once, those dreaded skies were near.
These emblems blaze the wit of man, and blaze it to the night:
now little wonder can I bring who put the stars to flight.
Who are we, that brandish fire to strike the heavens out?
Who are we, but Earthan fleas, though grand we waltz about?
Image this, my tired friend; now fix it in your mind:
who are we, that pitch the fruit, and gladly praise the rind?
See the lights like mortal monarchs chase upon the hills
and bathe these human paths in light, cast glory on the mills.
What emblems blaze the wit of man? What cries it to the night?
What becomes of those who dare to put the stars to flight?
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Submission Name: Nightwalker
