I sit here at my desk, all on my own,
typing away to the clock’s tick-tock,
and watching the Sun shine ever so brightly,
as its light peers through my windows.
I can’t help but grasp its beauty,
whilst I’ve lit two fragrant candles
that burn so passionately, like the Sun,
and gleam so sweetly, like the moon.
Though last night, as I swam the sea,
I looked up to see the full of her smile.
And yet, it was the Sun’s elegant glow
that allowed for her happiness—
giving her the light to shine so bright.
I smiled at her, as she smiled back,
and today, I smile now at the Sun,
who looks to me with a kind of warmth
you may not see in the midst of Winter.
Although the warmth is sometimes a bother,
it warms my heart like no other.
And the light of his may save us all
from the dark of the night—
though this brings the moon a sadness,
due to being alone and afraid.
And I may say that all her friends—
the stars in the sky, and the planets—
are too far away, and some already dead.
She weeps for us, moves our tides,
and longs to find happiness,
but may only come across darkness.
And so on the darkest nights,
the moon grows tired, and weary—
her burden becomes heavy,
no longer ever being light.
The darkness becomes her,
and she then becomes human.
And the thunder, lightning, and
clouded skies: all are symbols of war,
violence, and chaos; an eternal conflict
between the Sun and Moon—
fighting over our world, Earth,
which is just as much theirs
as it is our own.
And as I type my words,
the click, click, click of the keyboard,
I tap away my darkness,
just as the moon does hers.
And as time ticks and tocks,
in the same tap-tap-tap way,
he, too, ticks away his troubles—
whilst I sit at my desk,
typing this piece, this poem.
And I, too, may tick
before the flames around me go out.
And then, like the moon,
I may also end up in darkness.
Though, unlike her,
I can rekindle the flame,
over and over again—
for all of eternity, if I may,
until my last breath.